“Over years, perhaps yes. Not by the time you come back to me, however.” She knew there was no point in arguing this. Boaz was right. And then she considered all that had already changed for them. Hadn’t they both had to grow up these last few moons? Boaz was already acting every inch the powerful Zar and her behavior in the harem today had surely shocked all present, including herself. Even their odd bargain showed a new maturity—she must live up to her promise to her husband now.

“I will cope, my Zar. I will be a good Zaradine.”

“No Zaradine, to my knowledge, has ever left the sanctuary of the harem.” Again his words sounded like a warning; she felt a spike of tension between them.

“These are no ordinary circumstances or neither would I,” she responded with equal care.

“There will be temptation, Ana. You need to heed what I have said.” He was treading softly, she could see this, and yet he was determined to make a point.

Ana decided to be direct for him. “I will not try to escape, my Zar.”

“I think we shall have to let history show us your faith here, Ana. Your track record suggests otherwise, but that is not what I’m referring to.”

“You refer to my faithfulness,” she murmured.

“Yes. Temptation will present itself.”

It had been a long day and Ana’s fatigue got the better of her. She became impatient with Boaz’s couched words and innuendo, which felt suddenly sinister. “Who exactly do you think I might feel tempted by, Highness? The Grand Vizier perhaps, one of the Galinsean dignitaries? Or do you already suspect me of garnering attention from one of your mutes?” Even she could hear the edge in her voice, and regretted it.

He shrugged away her sarcasm. “I hope you’ll never take that tone publicly,” he said, his voice soft but firm.

“Forgive me. Dawn brought me a drowning and dusk has closed on a marriage. By this coming dawn we begin a journey to a new realm, into a lot of uncertainty, and the avoidance of a war depends on my ability to charm our centuries-old rivals. These hours I’ve lived through have been daunting and I’m feeling a little weary, my Zar. I humbly apologize.”

It was well phrased, with just enough emotion driving the words that he could feel her own sense of the unreal. He touched her bruised cheek affectionately. “I don’t think any of us have given you sufficient credit for what you’ve had to live through today.”

She wanted to shake away his hand but resisted, yet something in her could not let go of their earlier conversation with its darker undercurrent. She needed to know what he knew. “Who do you keep referring to, my Zar, as being a threat to my fidelity? Please be honest with me.” She saw the pain reflected in his eyes when he responded. “I refer to Spur Lazar.” Page 221

Ana felt dizzy, wondered again if her husband could listen in to her thoughts. “I…” she stammered, flustered.

Mercifully he read her discomfort differently. “Don’t fret, Ana. I know that you have done nothing to win any other man’s admiration. All I’m suggesting is that other people seem to think Lazar regards you with something other than innocent care.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know what I think, Ana,” and now he sounded plaintive, vulnerable. “I’m besotted with you, and that makes me jealous of any man, including the Grand Vizier, who will share any time with you.”

“Boaz,” she began, talking to him like a wife now, “I live in the harem. The only men I meet are half men, with the somewhat dubious exception of Pez. The man who spends most time with me is Salmeo, and the Grand Master Eunuch is so repulsive to me that I would rather make love to a monkey from your zoo than with him.” Boaz barked an embarrassed laugh but nodded for her to continue. “I hadn’t set eyes on the Spur before this morning, and that was because he rescued me from my watery grave.” She decided it was pertinent to remind Boaz that for all his pledges of love, he had still permitted her execution.

“You must also remember I have thought him dead for all of this time. There has been neither opportunity nor desire on either of our parts. And so I believe this warning, from wherever it emanates, is nothing more than troublemaking, designed to make you feel unsure of me, of yourself, of the one man who is truly loyal toyou —not your father, not Percheron, not because he has some other agenda. Lazar is loyal to you.”

She hesitated briefly, then added, “This rumormongering can only have come from one source. One jealous source always looking to stir up trouble. I’m guessing your caution springs from something your mother has said. Would I be right?”

“And my own good sense that any red-blooded man would find you irresistible.” Relief flooded Ana’s body as she realized that his suspicions were truly born of jealousy and hearsay; he had not looked into her soul somehow. “Well, on the occasions I have been with Spur Lazar, both publicly and privately, he has acted toward me with the usual coldness and distance he bestows on most.

In fact I recall asking him why he disliked me so much. Spur Lazar has never let his gaze linger on me,” she lied, feeling her face flush, “and he has certainly never laid so much as a finger on me—other than to bring me back to the harem when I escaped the first time and to drag me from the river’s embrace.” She was breathing hard, hoping a sense of indignation would cover her attempt at deception. Once again she blessed her luck that it was so dark.

“We shall never speak of this again,” he said, accepting her response and her right to be vexed. “You’re right; the Valide can provoke problems where none exist. It is her way—her method of survival from years of cunning in the harem.”

“And her own infatuation with the Spur,” Ana added.

He sighed. “Yes, there is that, too. Nevertheless, Ana, let me end this conversation by saying we are not discussing Spur Lazar or my mother but rather you. It is you who is being cautioned. It is your actions that will be watched and no doubt tested.”

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“I understand,” she replied, not even sure she could look at Lazar in the next few moments without revealing to both him and the Zar how treacherous her body’s inclinations truly were. She wanted to tell Boaz that her mind was willing but her heart was a traitor, that her desire to be dutiful could not match her body’s desire to feel the touch of his Spur’s skin against hers. However fleeting it was, she knew her body would risk the danger, risk the Zar’s wrath, even if her good sense told her otherwise, and still it reminded her constantly that Lazar had betrayed her.

She kissed her husband one last time, and with the help of the mute known as Salazin, she stepped out of the karak, her traitorous eyes scanning the festive crowd, and instantly picking out the the man who dominated her thoughts.

He stood tall on a small rise that was slightly removed from the party. He was talking to Jumo and a few of his men. Beneath the soldiers their horses shifted and neighed, eager to be gone from the torches and crowd of people. And then, as if he could sense her presence, he looked up, and across the distance, he stared directly at her, into her eyes, into that perfidious soul of hers, no longer true to her but a slave to him. But something deeply sorrowful about the way he hung his head soon after they locked gazes gave her information far more revealing.

Ana knew then and there that whatever inclinations she was fighting, he was fighting them harder.

LAZAR DIDN’T NEED TOknow she had climbed out of the karak. He sensed her presence instantly and broke away from his conversation with Jumo. His friend, ever sensitive to the mood swings of his former master, quickly picked up the thread of conversation with the other men to cover Lazar’s sudden absence, even though he remained standing in the same position on the crest of the small rise.

The Spur’s gaze locked on Ana’s, and even though she was far away, he knew that for all of her posturing and his careful distance, nothing had changed. And that was dangerous. He lowered his head almost immediately. A part of him had secretly hoped that Ana did hate him, that she would and could never forgive him for the deception of his apparent death. He would have accepted her hatred as the price he had to pay for Lyana’s grace in letting her live.

On the other side of the karak another figure, unmistakeably the tall young ruler, alighted to win his attention and surprised Lazar by searching him out immediately. Lazar was dismayed to see the young man’s gaze flick immediately to Ana and then back to him. The Spur held his breath—surely, surely there was no suspicion? Despite the agony of his intense love for Ana, he knew he had never revealed it to anyone, not even to her. How could the Zar, of all people, have this thought in his mind, if he did have this thought at all?

He handed over the reins of his horse, muttered something to Jumo, and strode down the hill, ignoring the questions and inquiries thrown at him by various people until he reached the Zar’s karak.

“Zar Boaz. You grace us with your presence.”

Boaz smiled warmly and Lazar felt his shoulders relax slightly. “I thought it appropriate to see my wife off on this great journey, Lazar.”

“Indeed, Highness.” He looked over at Ana. “Zaradine Ana,” and bowed his head slightly. “We have a sweet and docile filly for you to ride.”

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She said nothing but inclined her head and straightaway turned to Elza, who had bustled up to take charge. Elza was clearly enjoying the sudden notoriety of being the new Zaradine’s personal slave, and her pleasure at the chance to escape the claustrophobia of the harem was also evident in her bright smile.

Lazar returned his attention to the Zar, all crisp efficiency. “We make for the foothills, Highness, and will camp there for a few hours. My intention is that we journey in the cool of the latest hours of darkness and the early hours of dawn until the sun gets more fierce.”

“This is Samazen season, if I’m not mistaken?”

“Sadly you are not, my Zar. This is indeed the most dangerous time of the year to be anywhere near the desert.”

“But it can’t be helped,” Boaz qualified.

Lazar nodded. “We have no choice. The desert is the fastest route. I will take every precaution.”

“When can I expect news?”

“I will send Jumo back as soon as we know anything, but I imagine you won’t hear much for a couple of moons, Majesty.”

Boaz nodded. “You take with you precious cargo, Lazar.”

“I will keep the Valide, the Grand Vizier, and Pez free from harm, Majesty—on this you have my word.

As far as your wife goes, I will lay down my life for her as I would for you, my Zar, for she is now an extension of you.”

At this Boaz fixed Lazar with an intense stare that the Spur met head on and did not waver from. There was a test in that long, searching look, and Lazar, despite his turbulent emotions, felt pity for the young ruler who was truly rising to his station and yet was obviously fragile where Ana was concerned.I know the feeling, Lazar thought, finding an uneasy smile. “I will bring her home to you safe and triumphant, my Zar.”

And he saw something relax in Boaz as the young man said, “I know you will, Lazar, and for this I am in your debt once again.” He reached for the Spur and pulled him close. “Bring her home, protect her from those who don’t feel about her as you and I.”

It was an odd choice of words, but despite the clumsy expression, Lazar understood perfectly what had passed between them. “As I stand here, Zar Boaz, you have my oath that come what may, Ana will live to bear you an heir.” He was stunned himself by his equally inept answer, which smacked of something far deeper than either of them understood…and yet it seemed the right thing to say. Lazar couldn’t explain it but it was as though he didn’t choose the words, they chose themselves. Whatever or why ever they came, his words seemed to satisfy Boaz, who now grinned broadly and hugged him again.

“Perhaps she already has my heir in her belly,” Boaz said brightly. “Go about your duties, Spur Lazar. I don’t mean to hold you from them.”

Lazar bowed, still baffled by what had passed unspoken between him and his Zar—was Boaz openly acknowledging their shared love for Zaradine Ana? And his own curious response…how could he know she would give Boaz an heir? He shook his head, confused, and removed himself from the crowd of Page 224

people as another karak began arriving, probably that of the Valide, he decided. He resisted the urge to cast a glance Ana’s way and instead steadfastly fixed his eyes on Jumo and his mind on their departure, which would take place just as soon as they could get the women comfortable on the horses and settled.

The Samazen, he decided as he strode back up the rise, knowing she was watching him, was going to be the least of his problems.

AT JUMO’S WISE SUGGESTION, Lazar guided the party into the foothills in a northwesterly direction so that Ana would not feel the nearness of her family. Their small dwelling was close but not close enough that she would necessarily recognize the terrain as anything but indigenous to the foothills rather than to the region she grew up in. Jumo noticed that the Spur had doggedly resisted all contact with Ana on the slow climb into the hills, preferring instead to send Jumo on both occasions that he felt inclined to check with the royal party that all was well with their horses, the pace, their comfort.

Jumo returned now with the message that both of them had anticipated an hour earlier at least. “The Valide wishes to speak with you.”

“And did she ask politely?”

“Something about not being of a mind to discuss her comfort with the Spur’s slave.” Jumo cleared his throat as if ridding himself of something distasteful.

“Gods rot that woman!” Lazar muttered. “I’m sorry, Jumo—”

“Don’t be sorry. Her words, not yours, and I was glad to run the errand. It meant I could see Ana.”

“More luck you,” Lazar said.

“And save you the pain of it,” Jumo qualified. “You know, Master…”

“Call me by my name in front of the Valide. Do not give her any ammunition. Let her see our familiarity.”

“All right. I was going to say, where Ana is concerned, I’m afraid your face, legendary as it is for its blankness, is in fact rather easy to read.”

“That bad?”

Jumo nodded. “If you don’t want to give the Valide a weapon, don’t even look at the girl.”

“I haven’t looked at her in thirteen moons!” he growled.

“And none of the heat has dissipated between the two of you.”

“That’s ridiculous, I—”

“What is? You both go out of your way to be so uncommunicative that it’s obvious you’re doing your utmost to look as though you have nothing to say to each other.”

“We don’t. Not anymore.” Lazar scowled.

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“Now I know that’s a lie and so does the Valide. You’ve saved Ana’s life twice now, Lazar. And knowing you as I do, I understand that you have not acted purely out of duty. Whether or not the Valide appreciates this is irrelevant. You need to act more naturally.”

“Act naturally?” It was snarled with a mixture of incredulity and sarcasm.

Jumo ignored him and continued earnestly. This was important if they were all to survive. “Address her.

Give her eye contact. Offer a few words—encouragement, inquiry, anything. Don’t be afraid to be friendly. It’s what they would anticipate…even though you’re not friendly to most.” He gave a soft smile to lighten the awkward yet necessary lecture, but Lazar had never looked more grim.

“That’s just the point, I am afraid to be friendly.”

“Why, Lazar?” Jumo pleaded. It seemed so simple to him, and Ana was so easy to get along with that surely the Spur could make it go lighter on all of them if he tried a bit harder. Jumo was startled when the sorrowful answer came.

“Because it will undo me, my friend. She is married now. She is Zaradine…more untouchable than she ever was.”

Jumo had known Lazar for so long now, shared enough to know how his friend might react in any situation. But not this time. He had never heard Lazar sound so vulnerable, and it was frightening.

Frightening that a man who had always seemed impervious not just to the wiles of women but to any true friendship beyond their own could now appear so fragile where this young woman, this forbidden woman, was concerned. He could only feel the deepest pity for his friend who he now knew was on the most dangerous of paths. No one, absolutely no one, could lay a hand on a Zaradine. It was one thing to covet an odalisque, a possession of the Zar but still merely a slave amidst a myriad of other slaves. But once elevated to wife, she instantly became something more precious, and to be Absolute Favorite and likely mother to the heir meant her face would almost certainly never be looked upon by another whole man again.

Ana had always done things differently, and even though this was not by her design, here she was now on a journey, not just leaving the harem—something Herezah, for instance, had never considered possible—but representing her Zar, her nation, in a desperate bid to avert war. Suddenly she had been elevated to a new status altogether—no longer just Zaradine, no longer just Absolute Favorite, no longer just woman, but diplomatic negotiator, a strategist possibly, who might just fashion the peace that Percheron wanted, needed. From today on, many men—strangers, foreigners, enemies—might look upon her face if need called for it.

All of that acknowledged, the truth was that in principle nothing had actually changed…and Lazar knew it. For all the uniqueness of this situation, this was still a royal wife—the Favorite—and to covet this one was to invite cruel death.

Jumo understood what Lazar was battling. It was etched deep into his friend’s grief-stricken face. And Jumo wished, although he had suspected this forbidden love had deepened, that he hadn’t assumed it would somehow be diluted over time, through their absence from each other.

He had convinced himself that if the two did not see each other for so long, Lazar’s infatuation and what appeared to be Ana’s childish attachment to the Spur might lose their potency. But Ana was not a child.

She had been a young woman when they had discovered her, but she had the composure of one far Page 226

older and obviously the maturity to match. No, their compulsion toward each other was stronger than ever and both were fighting it hard. Lazar’s inspired suggestion that Boaz marry Ana for the sake of the nation was not just a desperate bid to secure her life and indeed possibly save Percheron, but also his skewed method of putting Ana so far out of his own reach that he could never do more than love her from a distance. And Jumo could see the price his friend was paying for that decision—undeniably the only decision he could make under the circumstances—and he also understood the debt would never be paid. Lazar would continue funding her security with his own pain—suffering seeming to be, for this man, a bottomless purse.

Jumo cleared his throat.

“I will try,” Lazar replied finally, and the forlorn nature of his promise prompted Jumo to add something, anything, of a positive nature, before his friend turned his horse around to drop back to the royal party.

“I met your parents, Lazar. Perhaps you would like me to tell you about that meeting?” It had the opposite effect than he’d hoped. More darkness deepened into the shadows of the Spur’s face. “Perhaps,” he replied, and Jumo understood he was simply being polite. After all, Lazar had not even asked after the King and Queen.

Lazar’s companion sighed, looked toward the small valley ahead of them. “That’s camp. The camels will be delivered in the next few hours. I’m glad you decided to bring fewer men than the Zar originally suggested.”

Lazar nodded, said no more as he nudged his horse around and trotted unhappily back down the line of slow-moving people on horseback to the main party and to the woman who awaited him.

ATTIRED AS SHE WASin a midnight-blue gown from head to toe, the dark eyes of the Valide flashed pure pleasure as his horse drew up next to hers.

“Valide, you wished to speak with me?”

“I do, Lazar. Why do you not travel with Zaradine Ana and myself? Surely as our guide and our chaperone, your job is to stay close?”

He knew she was playing with him but he had promised himself he would not bite at any bait she dangled on this journey. He hoped his oath was not an empty one. “The danger, should it arise, Valide, is not here alongside you and Zaradine Ana but at the front of the column. You must forgive me but my job is actually to keep you safe by knowing precisely what is ahead of us.”

“And what is ahead of us, Lazar? I see nothing but the dark shadows of thorny bushes and the black humps of dunes.”

“And you would be right, Valide. But also, less than one league away is our stopping point for a few hours. Ahead is a small valley, safe as a resting place so we can take delivery of our camels and both of our esteemed women might take some sleep for a while.” He looked across the Valide to where the silent Zaradine stared straight ahead into the night. He decided Jumo was right. He could at least try. “I imagine you must be fatigued, Zaradine Ana?” His voice was gentle and he couldn’t have cared less what Herezah read into it.

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He was surprised, though, that Ana answered him so readily. Her voice was steady, clear, when it came.

“I was when I was at the palace, Spur Lazar.”

“But no longer?” he dared, enjoying the fact that he had effectively cut Herezah out of the conversation momentarily.

“I didn’t know if I would be able to stay upright on my horse, I was so exhausted, but curiously I feel refreshed to be out beneath the stars, infused with a fresh energy to be back in the foothills. I am close to my home, I believe?” The inquiry was there, he could not avoid it.

“We are in the same region, yes.” He pointed. “Over there, in that direction, is where your home is.” She sighed in answer and Lazar took that sad sound to mean that she had no home.

“So you will join us for supper, Lazar,” Herezah said.

It was not a question but he responded as if it were. “Thank you, but I must decline. I have to ensure the camels—”

“The camels!” She laughed at him. “I’m sure amongst all these men someone else can receive and tie down the animals for a few hours, Spur. I believe you make excuses.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You wish to distance yourself from us women. But we are in need of some company.”

“You have the Grand Vizier—”

Again she interrupted him with a laugh. It was obvious she was enjoying this banter. Didn’t she always, Lazar thought wearily to himself.

“I can engage the Grand Vizier in conversation anytime I choose—isn’t that right, Tariq?” The Grand Vizier, riding quietly on the far side of the Zaradine, dipped his head gently in a meaningless acknowledgment.

“But supper with the Spur is far more intriguing,” Herezah continued. “After all, we haven’t seen you for over twelve moons, Lazar. I’m sure Zaradine Ana will enjoy the opportunity to hear precisely what you’ve been up to all the time that we thought you were dead.” She kept her voice breezy but her words cut like a sharp blade through him. It was all threat.

He bristled despite his promise to remain impervious to her baiting. “I’m sure Zaradine Ana’s eventful day will demand that she rest, Valide. It would be irresponsible of me to ask her to squander precious sleeping hours in polite conversation over supper. We are not on a picnic, may I remind everyone. This is a journey fraught with unknown dangers and I’m afraid I must use my rank as Spur to insist that everyone, hungry or otherwise, take this chance to sleep. You will hate me when I send out the call to rouse yourselves in just a few hours. You can eat on the camels in the morning and you can feast when we break for camp tomorrow, but until then I will be busy with the activities entrusted to me by my Zar.”

“Spur Lazar, I think you forget yourself. You are here to care for our needs—” Page 228

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Valide. Forgive me if my interpretation of care is different from yours, however. As Spur, I have duties. I am answerable to the Zar for your lives. I will do everything within my power to protect them…and that means ensuring this trip is not treated like some sort of festive event.

Again, forgive my brusque words, Valide, but we are now in hostile territory.”

“Hostile? This is still Percheron, Spur—”

“The desert kills, Valide. It is hostile to all creatures and does not differentiate between Percherese or Galinsean. It will destroy us as it chooses. I am here to ensure it is never given that chance. Please excuse me.” He bowed his head to the Valide, then to the Zaradine, who did not look at him. “Tariq.”

“How long before we arrive?” the Grand Vizier inquired.

“I shall stop the caravan very shortly and then I shall return to get the royal tent up and all of you settled.”

Tariq nodded and Lazar took that as his opportunity to leave.

“OOH,THAT MAN IS so frustrating!” Herezah breathed.

“Only for you, Valide, it seems,” Maliz observed. “Zaradine Ana had little to say to him and I can see he has no time for me.”

“It’s true, our new Zaradine must be tired; after all she nearly drowned today. Tomorrow he will not be quite so slippery.”

“Why do you pursue the Spur, Valide?” Ana asked, surprising Herezah by joining in. “It’s obvious neither of you cares much for the other save what is necessary for formality.”

“Don’t question me, Ana! Please remember your place.” Herezah bristled.

“As Absolute Favorite Wife to the Zar, Valide, or as the emissary who will try to negotiate a peace treaty for Percheron?”

“I forbid you to take that tone with me, Ana.”

“You forbid me nothing, Valide.” Herezah opened her mouth to retaliate but Ana did not give her a chance. “Out here, in the desert, we are equals. In fact, I think if I had to survive alone I might stand a better chance. I’m from these parts, Herezah, and I haven’t forgotten the harshness of the wild or how to respect it. You have never felt its sinister touch and I suspect if you were alone you would capitulate at its first fiery breath of the day or its icy nighttime caress. You need the Spur, and not as an enemy.” Furious that the young woman had just addressed her by name, Herezah replied icily, “I don’t need him as anything!”

“Anything other than a supper companion,” Ana finished for her, “or perhaps a bedmate?” Herezah felt the compulsion to strike this girl again, hit her so hard she might tumble from her horse, but she was too wily to succumb to that again. She knew Ana was playing her at her own game. The Page 229

youngster was baiting her, willing her to strike, to let her son down, to bring shame on herself. She did no such thing. Instead she laughed.

“Oh my dear, you reveal too much of yourself. You are fortunate for the veil and the cover of darkness, otherwise we might all see your burning cheeks. Do you really think no one sees through you? The Spur is not for you, child, no matter how much you covet him.”

“I am a married woman, Valide.”

“That’s meaningless.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

Maliz coughed to hide his amusement at Ana’s audacity.

“You overstep your status,” Herezah warned, in the cold tone she was used to freezing people to the spot with.

To her rapidly increasing fury, the young Zaradine seemed impervious to the threat. “I warned you before: we are now equal. I’ll respect your position in the harem provided you respect my new status.

Out here, however, I abide by no one’s rules but my own, Valide, and those of the Spur, who is leading this journey. As for suggesting that I am lusting for Lazar, I see no one panting around him like a dog in heat, save yourself.”

At this Maliz clearly couldn’t help himself. He broke into loud laughter. His outburst startled Herezah from her fury and prevented the Valide from breaking her promise and doing something ugly to Ana that she would regret. Instead she somehow managed to join the Grand Vizier in his amusement, after which she simply dropped her voice low, menacing, and murmured only for Ana’s hearing: “There will be a reckoning for this once we return.”

“If we return,” Ana warned. Nothing further could be said; the Elim were forming an escort around them once again.

“We are stopping here for a few hours, Valide,” the senior man said.

“Good,” Herezah snapped. “I’m weary of this company and conversation. Please get our tents set up quickly.”

27

The group of men, nomads, arrived with the camels at just past midnight. The camp was mostly silent; the Valide, Zaradine, and Grand Vizier were resting, if not asleep. The two women shared tented accommodation that could be considered grand—lavish by the visitors’ awed stares—but Lazar knew that Percheron could have yielded something infinitely more breathtaking in terms of opulence had it been given sufficient time. The Grand Vizier slept in a smaller, gaudily colored tent that would normally be used by far lesser dignitaries. Still, he had said his good nights without complaint, and again Lazar was struck by the radical changes in the man. Tariq would have required accommodations that screamed richness and status, but Maliz couldn’t seem to care less where he put his head down. Although in the past, Tariq had irritated Lazar as a meaningless, sycophantic drone, Maliz gave him a constant sense of un-ease. It was more than that, though. Maliz gave Lazar a feeling of dread, as though he were simply toying with everyone now, enjoying the angst within this party, not in any way involved or concerned. Coming along Page 230

for the fun of it perhaps, even though his Zar expected it.

Pez materialized by Lazar’s side. “Why are you staring at his tent?”

“I’m wondering why he’s here. He could have easily made legitimate excuses. There must be a reason for him coming along that suits his own agenda.”

“Ana, presumably,” Pez replied without hesitation.

“We’ve been through this—”

“I know. And your claims damn my beliefs all the way to hell.”

“And still you believe,” Lazar finished for him.

“I do. I feel something in Ana. She resembles a plain mortal as little as I do. I don’t have the answer, so don’t tax me with the question, but I believe Ana is involved—as firmly as I believe you are.”

“He cannot be here for Ana, though. Whatever you believe, he must have satisfied himself that she is not the Goddess incarnate.”

“I agree. Perhaps that is the difference this time. Maybe Lyana is protected.” Lazar kept his patience. “Tell me. What occurs to him when Lyana comes into her power?” At this the dwarf faltered. He knew Lazar was going to trap him again. “That, too, is confusing, Lazar, I admit. Traditionally, as soon as Maliz comes into contact with Lyana, he is endowed fully with all of his powers.”

“Magic, you mean,” Lazar qualified. He wanted none of Pez’s cryptic answers.

“For want of a better word, yes.”

“Are they noticeable?”

Pez smirked. “Does he break out in sores, or suddenly grow in stature, do you mean? No, Lazar, he is just equipped for the battle that will inevitably ensue between himself and Lyana.”

“And traditionally they fight—hand to hand?”

Pez shrugged. “They use their powers against each other. She has always lost.” He pursed his lips before adding, “But not this time.”

“I reckon he’s here for you. He’s keeping an eye on the person who can lead him to the real Lyana.” Pez shook his head, determined to shore up his belief that Ana was still somehow the one. “Perhaps he’s here for neither Ana nor myself. Why not you?”

Lazar laughed grimly. “We’re going over stale ground, Pez.” The dwarf nodded sadly. “Why can’t I just go in there now and slit his throat?”

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“I’ve explained this. He cannot die by ordinary means.”

“Why not?”

“Lyana’s presence gives him his powers.”

Before Lazar could argue again that Ana was not Lyana and surely that made Maliz vulnerable, Jumo arrived with the news that the purveyors of camels were ready to do business.

“We have shared kerrosh. It is time,” Jumo said.

Lazar nodded. “I have some animals to buy, Pez. Keep an eye on his tent. I don’t care that it’s guarded by Elim. Everyone’s tired and might get sloppy. See that he doesn’t make any attempt to enter the women’s accommodations.”

“I’ll do one of my screams if he does.”

Lazar gave him a sad smile before following Jumo down to where the nomads sat patiently, cross-legged, warming themselves around a small fire that the soldiers had built.

“Are they speaking Percherese?” Lazar asked his friend.

“No. Use Khalid.”

Lazar switched instantly into the language of the nomads, touching his hand to his forehead and breast as he welcomed the men and thanked them for bringing the animals.

They stood and responded in kind. This was purely formality. Their expressions were blank, their gazes guarded, as they watched the tall foreigner seat himself in similar cross-legged fashion.

Lazar got straight down to business now that the formalities were done with. “How many?”

“We were asked to bring twenty-five,” the leader said.

Lazar nodded. “We’ll need all of them. Are they watered?”

“Just a few hours ago. They will travel for many days without a need for drinking.”

“Good.”

“Where do you go, sir?”

“Across the desert.”

The senior man whistled through his teeth, talked to his companions in a pidgin version of the language that not even Lazar could understand. He grasped every fourth word, though, and from their body language could tell they were not pleased at the notion that their camels might not be returned. He chose to interrupt their worried conversation.

“We will buy them outright.”

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“I cannot allow that. We have raised these camels from calves. They belong to the Khalid people.” Lazar knew better than to protest. As hostile as it was, the desert still supported several tribal families, wandering endlessly from well to well to soothe the parched throats of man and beast. And their camels, in truth, meant more to them than one another. Camels gave them meat, milk, skins, transport, comfort, income. He’d always known that asking one tribe to sell off more than two dozen of its prized family members was an optimistic notion.

And he also knew by the man’s objection that he was dealing with the right animals. Sometimes the wily tribes tried to sell unsuspecting travelers beasts who were used to traversing the stony plains. The soles of these animals were hard and shiny, unsuitable for the soft give of the sands. Jumo, of course, even with limited time to make his arrangements, would not have erred on this point, he reminded himself.

“I need these camels,” he said softly to the man whose name, he had found out by listening to the men converse, was Salim.

“Then we will send some of our own men,” the man replied. Lazar began to shake his head. The last thing he wanted was more people in the caravan. “Otherwise you cannot have our animals, not for any price.”

Salim sounded very final. And Lazar was running out of patience and time. He glanced toward Jumo, whose almost imperceptible nod urged the Spur to accept this deal. After all, what could it hurt to have some experienced desert travelers in their party?

It was probably fatigue that made him capitulate. “I accept your terms. How many men?”

“Four.”

Lazar nodded. “All right. What price?”

And with those two words he set off furious negotiations. Lazar understood the way of the desert. The first price was simply the starting point from which he would now barter down as earnestly as they would argue the price back up. He ordered kerrosh, knew there would be another hour or more in this debate.

Lazar would have happily paid their first price—unheard of, of course, but his men were tired and he was exhausted. Money was not an issue. The Zar had opened up the royal coffers and no karel would be spared in this journey. Boaz would scoff if he knew his Spur was wasting precious rest time in petty bargaining.

But this was the way of the desert folk. If you didn’t follow the protocol, they would take offense.

As they finally agreed upon the hire price of men and camels, suddenly all the Khalid were standing, stretching, smiling, and nodding. Negotiations were over, and it was time for a final round of kerrosh.

Lazar worked hard at stifling a long yawn but lost the fight. Salim strolled over.

“I am Salim. You will appreciate my men. I can see from your tents that you escort important people.”

“Bit hard to miss, isn’t it?”

The Khalid smirked but not unkindly. “I would leave those tents behind if I were you, sir. Forgive my forwardness but the less attention you draw to yourselves in the Empty the better.” Page 233

The Empty. It was the first time he’d heard the desert called that. Having crossed it once, he knew the title suited it. “Please call me Lazar. Should we expect trouble?” Salim looked thoughtful. “Possibly. I’m presuming you’re headed fully west?” Lazar didn’t want to tell Salim much more than he had to but the Khalid was obviously intelligent and had worked out much for himself. “Yes.”

Again the man whistled softly. “With a royal? Has the sun boiled your brains?” Lazar bristled but knew he must keep his temper even. He wanted those camels and he wanted to be gone in a few hours on their backs. “What do you know?”

Salim jutted his chin toward the tent. “The accommodations tell me plenty. The Elim guard tells me a lot more. You travel with precious cargo, Spur Lazar.”

“And the fewer people who know, the better, Salim. What should I be fearing?”

“Apart from the scorching heat and frost at night, the lack of wells across to the west, and the Samazen?”

Lazar grit his teeth at the man’s sarcasm. “And?”

“The western quarter of the Empty is not our region. Our people have no reason to travel those lands—I don’t know of any tribes who move across the Forgotten Sands, as the west is known. But we hear things. Rumors of a fortress.”

“What? In the desert?”

Salim shrugged. “All hearsay but I’m obliged to tell you if we lose our men and camels…” He trailed off, his tone sad.

“Why would you?”

Again he shrugged and it was beginning to annoy Lazar.

“What about this fortress? What rumors do you know?”

“That a madman had it built and has assembled his own army.” Lazar barked a laugh. “And you believe this? An army living in the desert.”

“No ordinary army,” Salim continued. “Men who care not for their lives on this plane.” Lazar was tiring of this conversation. “Salim, tell me what you know and be done. I appreciate your information and any guidance you can provide, but I wish no scaremongering of my men. We have an arduous journey ahead, fraught with all sorts of problems I don’t wish to think about yet, and you are now adding to those problems.”

“I know very little. Everything I have heard is based on information passed across the desert between Page 234

the tribes. I have no idea if it is based on truth, nor do I know how exaggerated the information has become in each telling.”

“Go on.”

“No one knows why they’re there—if they’re there. I have no name for this madman people whisper about. Rumor says he is on a personal crusade, that he has over the past decade been persuading vulnerable, impressionable young men into his personal army.”

“From where does he source these men?”

“People disappear all the time in the desert. The tribes know they will lose one or two men a year to its harshness. I think, if he exists, he is using this fact to prey on those people. He steals one or two from the tribes each year, watches them go through the motions of searching for their lost and then giving up, knowing the desert will claim lives.” Salim put his hands up in a gesture of helplessness. “Who knows, he may even steal the people from the western cities, for all I know.”

“Do you have any proof—anything real you can give me?”

At this, Salim’s eyes narrowed and his lips tightened to a thin line. He nodded. “My youngest son, Ashar. He disappeared two years ago, when he was just fifteen summers. He was accompanying a party of two other Khalid. They were mapping out some new watering holes, as we have begun to open up some trading routes toward the west and—”

Lazar suddenly understood. “This is about your son! It has nothing to do with our safety. Denying selling me the camels outright had nothing to do with tribal ways. You wanted to plantyour men inmy caravan.

And all that talk about the royals—you don’t care, you’re using the royal party as cover.” Lazar was past tired, past cranky, and was moving straight into fury.

Salim had the grace to look slightly sheepish. Again he gave the gesture of helplessness. “Have you a son of your own, Spur Lazar?”

“I have no children,” Lazar growled, mindful of the small crowd, turning from their kerrosh and conversation to watch the two men arguing.

“Then you cannot begin to understand the lengths a father will go to in order to protect his child. Ashar is now seventeen—”

“If he’s alive,” Lazar said heartlessly.

The man nodded sadly. “Yes, if he’s alive. I believe he is.”

“And you want to use my caravan to find him.”

“I don’t believe this enclave is run by a madman. If it exists—and I believe it does—I think he is far from mad. Very sane in fact; very calculating, too. He would have the good sense to let a royal party pass unharmed through the lands he considers his. Stealing or killing royals would bring nothing but damnation onto him—and the might of the entire Percherese army.”

“You can bet all your camels and children on that, Salim!” Page 235

The man did not rise to the bait. “As I say, I think he will let your caravan pass unharmed, but it will give me and my men the opportunity to get close enough not only to see whether the fortress exists but to get into it if necessary.”

“You know you’re the madman.”

“Perhaps. But I love my son, Lazar, and no man steals him from me.”

“You don’t know that he’s alive and you risk men and your own life on the chance that he is.” Salim studied him through dark, wise eyes. “One day I hope Zarab blesses you with a son. And then you will know the pain of parental love and the knowledge that, yes, you would die for that son on the off chance that your life might buy his.”

Lazar shook his head in exasperation. “I want the camels.”

“They are yours, but we come with them.”

Lazar knew he was beaten. He raised a finger in the air in threatening fashion. “You and your men are under my command. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

“You go where I say. You do what I order.”

“To a point. We shall break away from your caravan should we discover the fortress.”

“Agreed.”

They locked grim stares. Salim broke it by bowing his head to the Spur, hand on heart. “Thank you, sir.

I will ready my men.”

Lazar sighed. He was not going to get any sleep this night.

28

At Jumo’s insistence, Lazar tried to get some sleep, but it eluded him despite the fact that his body was bone-shakingly tired. He dozed restlessly on a skin beneath a few goat-hair blankets. He knew he had only two hours before they would have to rise and get the caravan moving before the heat of the day set in. This was summer and it could kill within an hour if it so chose and if the unprepared decided to gamble with it.

He rolled away from the fire, and the men talking quietly around it. Feeling the frost near his face, Lazar acknowledged that a desert night could be just as deadly as the searing day.

Forcing his eyes closed, he found some fitful rest. Amongst his frequent stirrings, his dreams punished him. Voices called to him. They urged him to set them free but he had no idea where their prison was.

Unleash us on the land, Lazar. You will need us for the battle ahead.

Who are you?

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Friends.

Where are you?

But there was no response and he realized he had jolted himself awake; he could hear Jumo’s voice speaking quietly with Salim and his men. He drifted off again and this time if the voices talked, he didn’t remember hearing them. This time his thoughts were with Ana, imagining how close she was and yet how very far from him. The words of Boaz returned to haunt him, that Ana’s womb might already be quickening with his heir.

He squirmed, opened his eyes, and deliberately roused himself by turning back toward the fire. His gaze met Jumo’s, which was full of reproach.

“You have another hour,” his friend said.

“I can’t sleep,” Lazar replied honestly. “Let’s start.”

Jumo nodded, and the men began moving as one, quietly dispersing to see to their various tasks.

Salim approached as Lazar was disentangling his long legs from the blankets.

“The water you carry in those barrels will have to go into skins.”

“They won’t like it,” Lazar said, his chin jutting toward the royal tent. But it was obvious he didn’t disagree. “Go ahead. You have what you need?”

“Yes. That’s the beauty of the goatskins; we can simply roll them up and carry them easily.” Lazar nodded. “Pick out three gentle beasts for our royal party.” Salim nodded. “And you?”

“Oh, the nastier the better for me,” Lazar quipped. They shared a smile of the desert, for most camels were cantankerous even in their most peaceful moments. The hobbled animals were already spitting and grumbling as their handlers began to get them up for the day.

“We’ll give you Maharitz, then. She’ll soon sort you out,” Salim said, his normally blank face creased into a mischievous grin.

LAZAR STAYED WELL AWAYfrom the royal tent but he could hear its complaints. Herezah did not appreciate being woken whilst it was still dark, and she was berating the unfortunate Elim given the task.

Not a word of complaint from Ana, of course, and Maliz was already dressed for the desert in simple light robes and a fashez, the turban that men favored when traveling in the sands. Lazar was impressed as he watched the man stretching outside his humble enough tent. He felt a stab of something akin to sorrow. It seemed a pity; the demon was a far better Vizier—a far better man, in fact—than his host had ever been. Despite his fear of what lurked beneath the shell of Tariq, Lazar rather admired the no-nonsense, direct, and charismatic way in which the Grand Vizier carried himself these days. In a different situation perhaps the two of them might have found common ground…friendship even.

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He shook his head free of such fanciful thoughts and reminded himself that Maliz was a demon, not a man, and that he would destroy Percheron and any number of its people, if necessary, to achieve his own aims.

A smaller figure emerged beside the Grand Vizier from the royal tent and Lazar immediately looked away. He was not quite fast enough, however; he felt his breath sucked from him with a fresh gust of pain. Ana had sensibly chosen the light-colored, unadorned robes of the desert for their journey. She was still veiled, however, and that helped to keep her distant, even though she was standing only fifty paces from him. He stole a glance and grimaced at the easy conversation that had instantly been struck up between the Zaradine and Grand Vizier. Ana was even laughing gently as she, too, stretched in the heavy atmosphere of the dewy night.

A soft lightening to the east nudged at Lazar’s thoughts—he must get the caravan moving. This cool was a false prelude to what the desert sun would bring once she was allowed to banish the moon and claim the skies.

Salim ambled over. “We are ready, Spur.”

“Good. I will need to speak with the royals and they will need help mounting their beasts when the time comes,” he reminded him.

The man nodded and without needing to say a word seemed to be able to give orders to his men with gestures or expressions. They were all well rehearsed in journeys such as these and obviously required no verbal reminders of what they should do.

Lazar steadied himself and strode across to where Herezah was still ranting behind the drapes of the tent. “Good morning, Zaradine Ana,” he said as cheerily as he could, his heart hammering as she turned her gaze fully on him. He could not see her eyes as clearly as he would have liked in the low light but it was not necessary, their color was etched brightly in his mind. “I won’t ask if you slept well,” he continued with an effort at levity, including Maliz now with a nod. “Grand Vizier.”

“Feel free to ask, Spur,” came the sardonic reply. “Zaradine Ana was just telling me that this was her deepest, most pleasurable sleep in thirteen moons. I certainly slept like a babe at the breast.” Lazar could believe it. Gone was the stoop of the Tariq of old; and the man standing before him belied his age of well past threescore years.

“You look fit indeed, Tariq,” he replied. “I am glad you found some rest, Zaradine,” he added, unable to turn away from her just yet. The ache in his chest did not lessen when her eyes crinkled at their edges and he knew she smiled the smile that he held dear in his memory. He did not need the veil removed to know its brightness and warmth.

“I thought I’d become soft in my time in the harem, Spur, but I suppose one’s heart never forgets what is closest to it. Memories of sleeping on a red blanket on the hard earth, beneath the stars of the foothills, are not lost to me and will remain my happiest.”

To the Grand Vizier it must have sounded like the wistful memory of sleeping in her father’s home in the foothills and he smiled indulgently. “Then you are blessed, Zaradine Ana, to experience such pleasure again.”

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Lazar didn’t hear him. To him Ana’s words provoked a distraction that left him so deeply wounded he could not have come up with a reply if she had expected one. Ana was not referring to her father’s hut; she was recalling the nights spent traveling amongst the foothills after leaving her family dwelling, during which she slept in the company of two men—Lazar and Jumo. They had taken their time with the journey; even in her naïveté, Ana had known it didn’t take so many days to reach the city. During this time Lazar had given her his own red blanket to sleep on. She had commented at some point that such a hot color did not suit the Spur’s cool approach to life. And Jumo had quipped that a man’s desert blanket is the truest reflection of his spirit. Even Lazar had cracked a wry smile at that.

Now all he could do was bow gently toward her, his throat closing with the emotion he was choking back.

“So, we leave now?” The Grand Vizier interrupted his thoughts.

Lazar coughed. “Er, yes, that’s what I’m here to tell you—” Before he could finish, the tent flap was thrown back and the Valide stomped out.

“What time do you call this?” she demanded of everyone in her fury but especially the Spur. She looked glorious in her anger and dishevelment.

But her beauty was winter to Ana’s beauty, which was all things summery—and that coldness had never held any allure for the Spur. “This time, Valide,” he said politely, “is what I call traveling time.”

“It’s night, for Zarab’s sake!”

“It’s the early hours of the morning before dawn, Valide. It is cool and safe for us to begin our journey before the heat of the day. The sun will be fierce in a few hours. I explained this.”

“You explained little. You leave your servant to do all your bidding.”

“Jumo is not my servant, nor is he yours. He is my friend.”

“He is irrelevant, as is his status! I refuse to leave my tent until I have washed and breakfasted and it’s light enough for me to see which clothes I shall wear. Do you understand me, Spur?” Lazar sensed the smirk on Tariq’s face. He knew the Grand Vizier was enjoying watching the standoff, seeing how the Spur would handle the Valide’s bullying tactics.

He bit back his own anger but his voice had lost the gentleness that had imbued it when he addressed the Zaradine. Now it was as hard and cool as the marble of the Stone Palace. “Valide, in the desert there is no status. I am sorry to enlighten you that your position in the palace carries only the weight that I allow. I permit that you are shown formal respect but you will not interrupt the resolution of what is—I think you’re forgetting—a diplomatic crisis.” He held up a finger. “First, there will be no washing in the desert from here on in. Today I will allow you a small bowl of water, as this is our first morning and water is still plentiful. It won’t be, starting tomorrow. We shall have only what we can carry, and that is needed for our sustenance, not our personal pleasure.”

Another finger went up. “Second, if you can eat some flat-bread as you walk, that’s called breakfast, and I am happy for you to do so. If you prefer not to, you will have to wait until we mount the camels when you can nibble on your bread with one hand and drink from a skin with the other.” His voice became harder still. “And if that wounds your sense of etiquette, Valide, my personal apologies, but I Page 239

shall have to ask you to wait until we have stopped for the day before you feast fully.” She opened her mouth to let fly with a new tirade but he stopped her with his third finger going up alongside its companions. “And third,” he said with a finality in his voice, “may I suggest that you adorn yourself as sensibly as the Zaradine and the Grand Vizier have chosen to do for this day’s travel. You will regret it otherwise. But it is, I might add, your choice.”

He now turned to face all three of his royal party. “Gentle beasts have been chosen for you. The men are waiting over by the camels. Please cover your heads now, for the sands will begin their fun.” He gave no further eye contact to the Valide, instead turning to address the waiting Elim.

“Take the tents down immediately—I’ll give you only minutes to get it all packed away and onto the beasts.” He bowed to his guests and strode away.

But Herezah unwisely stalked him, stabbing at him with her manicured finger. “How dare you speak to me like that, Lazar. You are my servant, you—”

Lazar swung around. “In the desert I am King, Valide; I am your god, your master, your ruler. You will do as I say in order to stay alive. My job for my Zar is to get you and the royal party safely to Galinsea to broker a peace between our two realms. And then I am charged to bring you back to Percheron safely. I amnot your servant, and something you should perhaps realize, Valide, is that I never have been.

You are the slave, bought by a harem to pleasure a Zar. I chose my role for Percheron, you were sold into it.”

Her voice, when it came, was a whisper. “Oh, there will be a reckoning for this when we get back to the palace, Lazar. You are never going to survive this indiscretion.” He leaned close. “Remember who you speak to, Herezah…I am the heir to the enemy throne and I can keep you captive in Galinsea if I so choose.” Of course his threat was empty but she didn’t know that.

He turned away from her and this time she let him walk away.

Only they shared the exchange, only they knew the threat they had made to each other. And only Lazar knew how suddenly terrified Herezah must have felt as her realization hit of where she was, without a single ally. No Salmeo to do her bidding, a Grand Vizier who no longer fussed around her, no royal son to protect her with his status. Around her was controlled hostility everywhere she turned.

“Lazar!” she yelled to his retreating back.

He didn’t turn, kept walking away from her, but held five fingers in the air so she knew that was the number of minutes she had before he would move the caravan out.

She returned angrily to her tent, already being expertly brought down at one end.

“Please, Valide,” a senior Elim urged, “please let us help you dress.” Lazar had left her no choice but to meekly enter her half-crumpled tent and put on the colorless, lightweight robes that were already laid out.

Behind her, and out of earshot, the Grand Vizier and the Zaradine shared a conspiratorial smile.

“I think this journey is going to be very good for our Valide,” Maliz whispered to his companion. “And highly entertaining for us.”

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THE CARAVAN OF TWOdozen camels set off not long after, Lazar asking everyone to lead their beasts for the first couple of hours.

“When the sun is out fully,” he explained, “we mount up, to conserve your energy. We will stop moving when the sun is at its fiercest and then move again at the end of the day and into evening.” And that was all he said before the slow-moving beasts took their first steps into the wilderness. Herezah and Ana walked with Tariq, with Elim leading their camels as well as their own.

No one spoke. There was not much to say after the fiery confrontation earlier. Everyone probably believed Herezah was sulking but whether she was or—more likely—was deep in her agile thoughts, she remained sensibly quiet behind her veil. Ana seemed to be enjoying the early-morning silence, which was broken only by the call of wild birds of prey. Maliz looked unmoved by the desolate vista sprawling before them. Jumo dropped back to offer some advice to the royal party.

Up ahead, Pez and Lazar moved slightly apart from the others, the dwarf skipping, pointing at the sky.

“What have you seen?” Lazar asked.

“A great deal of sand. Nothing stirs, apart from the odd scorpion or lizard. No problems as far as I can see, although I had to be very careful and will have to continue being watchful.” Lazar gave him a quizzical look. “You can hear the falcon up above?” Lazar nodded. “There were others and they’d like nothing more than to bring down a large snowy owl on the wing,” Pez explained testily.

The Spur looked toward the horizon, where the sun sat on its rim: a great fiery ball, promising a furnace not too much later in the day. He looked up and saw a lone falcon, a fearsome hunter that could stalk and kill a desert bustard despite its prey’s poison liquid, as easily as it could a pigeon. And then he looked across the golden wilderness as the last clumps of patchy grass lost their fight and capitulated fully to the parched sands of the Great Waste. He had survived this once before and he intended to do so again, but he felt a twist of fear in his gut. He was responsible now for so many other lives.

“This is madness, Pez,” he murmured.

“We have no choice. If fighting a battle of our faith is not hard enough, we now face war with our fellowman.” He shook his head with disgust.

“And it’s all my fault,” Lazar muttered. “I could have averted this.”

“How? By going yourself?”

“Of course! My reluctance to go alone means we are all under threat and this perilous journey guarantees nothing.” He sounded helpless.

“Lazar, tell me what your father would do if you did appear before him.”

“There would be no war with Percheron.”

“And?”

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“I would be put to death.”

“I see,” Pez said thoughtfully. He paused and then spoke again, firmly this time. “Can you unequivocally guarantee that there would be no war with our realm?”

It was the Spur’s turn to pause and consider. He took his time, so long in fact that Pez could have been forgiven for thinking he’d forgotten a question had been posed.

“I cannot give that guarantee.”

“Why?” There was satisfaction in the dwarf ’s tone.

“Because of all the kings of Galinsea who have resisted the temptation to invade Percheron for its riches, I believe in my heart that my father is the weakest with regard to its seductions.”

“So, in taking full blame and presenting yourself at the palace at Galinsea we risk not only losing you to the grave but we still run equal risk of war, even after having given our lives to chance in the desert.”

“I regret that you paint an accurate picture.”

“Then stop blaming yourself. You are doing the right thing, taking the best option by keeping yourself alive to lead our men if required whilst also escorting the one person who might just be able to broker the peace we need.”

“What if my father wants war anyway? This is the best excuse he’s ever had.”

“I think that has already occurred to all of us, Lazar,” Pez counseled gently. “Boaz would have worked this out from the very first moment he met the Galinsean dignitaries. As Zar, he has to leave no stone unturned to keep his people in peace. Your idea to marry him to Ana was inspired. If anyone can charm a king, Ana can.”

Lazar sneered. “If you knew my father, you’d know that he is not prey to the usual foibles of a man.”

“I think I do know your father,” Pez said, and winked at his friend. “I think the man I call friend well reflects his blood-line.”

“Ah, well,” Lazar said very softly, almost a sigh. “This is probably true to some extent.”

“What happened between you two?” It was obvious that Pez didn’t expect a reply, or more likely anticipated being told to mind his own business, because surprise registered on his face and his skipping halted momentarily when he was answered.

“I loved a woman that my parents did not approve of. Keep skipping, Pez.”

“Not from the right family?” the dwarf asked, hopping now.

“You could say that,” Lazar said, giving a sorry smile. “She was…” He trailed off.

“Special?”

Lazar nodded.

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“I presume she is no longer alive for you to be unable to so much as speak her name,” Pez said gently.

“Yes, she is dead.”

“Killed by your parents?” Pez asked, his tone filled with dis-belief.

“I like to see them as murderers, but a more generous, perhaps more realistic, person might say that they helped contrive a situation that would prompt her death.”

“She killed herself?”

Lazar nodded sadly. “It was the only way she felt she could prevent our family being torn apart. I was the son, the heir, and my father would not have her as the next Queen.”

“Her death achieved nothing, then.”

“Nothing toward healing the rift in our family, no. And nothing toward ensuring that the present heir to Galinsea take the throne. But she offered me my freedom through her act, and her bravery gave me the courage to not ignore that gift. I did not look back once I fled Galinsea. I did not want kingship, did not want to preside over a nation that preferred to steal art—or raze it—rather than create its own. Most Galinseans are heathens when it comes to art or poetry, music and dance.”

“I’m sure you are too harsh, Lazar. Did it not occur to you that you could be a King who changed his people’s attitudes?”

“I was eighteen when I fled Galinsea.”

Pez took Lazar’s hand. “And Boaz is seventeen and running his realm.” Lazar looked abashed. “He is a better man than me.”

“And now you speak rubbish like a true Galinsean! When will you accept that you were born to lead?

You can’t help yourself; you have kingship qualities in your blood—you cannot escape your line.”

“I have.”

“And yet here we go, heading back to Galinsea from where you hail, from where you fled, from where you think you can hide.”

“You’re right,” Lazar admitted. “I can no longer hide.”

“That’s right. It won’t stop here. Your parents will find you.”

“I know. I have been thinking that once this is over—if we can avert war—maybe I’ll leave Percheron.”

“Run away again? We need you, Lazar. Boaz needs you, and more importantly, Percheron itself needs you—not just because you are its Spur, but I’ll risk boring you again by reminding you that we are caught up in a different battle as well.”

“That one has to wait.”

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“It will take its own course as and when it chooses.”

“As and when you know who the Goddess is,” Lazar reminded him.

Pez ignored his gibe and left the topic of Galinsea alone for the time being. “Have you noticed how friendly he is to her?”

Lazar didn’t need to ask to whom Pez was referring. “Yes.” He sighed. “She is falling for his charms.” He noticed the dwarf balk. “Oh, I don’t mean he is seducing her for her flesh. No, he is winning her as a friend, something Ana so badly needs. I can’t blame her for being attracted to his charismatic ways. If we didn’t know better, perhaps we might fall for them, too.”

“I can’t tell you how dangerous this situation will become if Maliz gets her under some sort of influence.”

“She isnot Lyana. Her very presence here, alive and well, should assure you of that.”

“It doesn’t!” Pez snapped. “Ellyana said it would be different this time. And it is. Ana is involved. Her very name suggests she is.”

“Now you’re grasping at the proverbial camel’s hair, Pez, and you don’t have a good grip.”

“If you don’t trust me, at least humor me. Have I ever led you down a wrong path? Please, if just for my own sanity, go along with this. Allow that I might be right, that he is preying on her.” Pez cartwheeled and Lazar patiently walked alongside, waiting for the dwarf to return to his skipping beside him.

“For what?” he continued when Pez had rejoined him. “What can he gain?”

“If she is not Lyana, as you claim, then I have to presume he believes that she knows who Lyana is, or that she can lead us to the real Goddess.”

That stopped Lazar in his tracks. “I hadn’t considered that.”

“Well, do so now. And keep walking. He watches our every move.”

“Hush,” Lazar warned as Salim approached.

Pez was already humming a nonsense song and picking his nose.

“We should mount up now,” the Khalid suggested.

Lazar nodded and held a hand up to slow the column to a halt. Pez moved forward, striding on his short legs, adding a skip every few steps.

Lazar could feel the sweat seeping into the back of his shirt. As he walked toward the royals over the soft flurry of the sands, he wrapped the desert turban around his face so that only his light eyes could be seen.

He bowed. “Valide, Zaradine. We ride from here for the next two hours.”

“I have never ridden a camel before,” Herezah said, still sulky.

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“I will show you, Valide. Come, I will get you mounted.” He flicked a glance toward Ana and saw the soft hurt flash in her gaze. “Zaradine Ana, Salim here will help you onto your beast. Tariq…”

“I can manage, thank you, Spur,” the Grand Vizier said, and shooed away any help. “You looked as though you were in deep conversation with Pez, but the Zaradine here says that Pez was just talking his usual nonsense, that you apparently humor him.”

“Zaradine Ana has been quick to notice much about the palace and to understand its ways. She appreciates the value of Pez’s humor. Yes, he is mad, but sometimes his very madness can bring a strange sort of clarity to those around him. Laughter is a great tonic.”

“I didn’t notice you laughing, Spur,” the Grand Vizier said, more slyly now.

“You were obviously not paying enough attention, Tariq. Pez was teaching me one of his nonsense songs. He is wonderful at taking my mind off the tedium of our journey.”

“Was it the song about the butterfly and the ass?” Ana interjected.

“No, though he did sing that one to me yesterday, Zaradine. Today it was actually the one about smashed pomegranates.”

“Oh yes, I know that one. It’s funny, even though it’s so silly.”

“Quite,” Lazar said, giving her a soft smile. “I do humor Pez, Grand Vizier, and it would be helpful if you would, too. He has his place and his part to play for the palace, but he is also fragile and I’d rather not deal with him in one of his strange moods if I can help it.”

“I shall do my best, Spur.”

Lazar nodded his thanks and hoped Ana would notice how he included her as he swept his gaze by her and back to Herezah. “Shall we go, Valide?” he said, knowing she would have felt a small stab of triumph at his sudden show of humility toward her. His good sense had overridden his anger and he had vowed during these hours of walking not to lose his temper with her again. She would find ways to punish Ana instead of him and besides he needed everyone calm and ready for the ordeal of the desert.

Jumo waited by the Valide’s camel with her handler. “This is Masha,” he said, “and we are assured she will not try any tricks.”

“Good,” Herezah replied, looking dubiously at the kneeling animal, who was chewing indifferently, awaiting her burden.

“We won’t ride like the Khalid, Valide,” Lazar said politely. “We will seat you at the back of the camel’s hump on top of a saddle that is laden with blankets.”

“You’re not trying to sell me on the idea that this is going to be comfortable, are you, Spur Lazar?” she replied, a little more like the sarcastic Herezah of old.

“I wouldn’t dare. But you will get used to her swinging gait quickly. My best advice is that you simply allow your body to drift with hers. Don’t fight it, just go with it and by this evening you will move in tandem with her.”

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Herezah pointed. “That man—that tribal man over there—he is kneeling on his saddle.” Lazar shook his head in some awe. “I know. It’s their way. They can go at full gallop like that and never lose their balance. I always swore I’d learn how to do that.”

“Is this why you suggested I wear the pants and robes of the desert, Lazar?” she said, a tease in her voice now.

“It is,” he joked in his deadpan way. “You will be more comfortable for riding and I promise you, Valide, you are far cooler in these robes than you would be in the formal wear to which you are accustomed.”

“I swear I wouldn’t be comfortable in this heat even if I were naked!” Lazar noticed Jumo stifle a grin. Herezah was back to her flirtatious best.

She could hardly miss his grimace. “I was making a jest, Lazar. Have you ever understood the concept of smiling at somene’s jest, even just to be polite?”

“Yes, Valide. As you can see, I’m not very good at it.”

“Indeed.” She rested her hand on his shoulder and gave an appreciative smile at touching him. As she stepped close to the camel she seemed to lose her footing and Lazar had to step up close to steady her, his hands instinctively clasping her waist. Her hands more knowingly clasped around his neck. “Thank you,” she breathed. “These are certainly slippery creatures to climb aboard.” Jumo gave Lazar a look of soft exasperation, for Masha had not so much as blinked whilst Herezah was attempting to mount her. Lazar pretended he did not notice Herezah’s ruse and allowed her hands to linger around his neck as he ensured that she was seated properly on the saddle.

“As I said,” he began, releasing himself from her embrace, “it’s not exactly comfortable, but you should not be too sore if you don’t resist the swaying.”

“I shall remember that,” Herezah said, and he knew she was not referring to his advice so much as his touch. “That’s the sort of tip we give new girls in the harem.” She pretended to stifle a playful smile.

Lazar kept his expression deliberately blank in response and turned to check that the other royal guests were on their camels. He could hardly fail to see the look of injury that Ana threw at him. Clearly, she hadn’t failed to notice Herezah’s pantomime.

“Come,” Jumo said, well able to read the undercurrent swirling around them. “The sun has no patience.” 29

The first seven days passed in a monotonous routine as everyone settled into rising before dawn and walking for a few hours until the sun noticed them and threw down her fury. They would then ride for another four hours, hardly wasting words, focused on nothing other than the sway of their camels and making it through the next hour when the skins of water would be handed around. The camels did not drink any water during this time but Lazar knew from Salim’s urgings that on this eighth day they must make it to a well or the animals would simply stop. Everyone, including the royals, had given up eating Page 246

until the cool of the evening—no one even bothered with the morning flatbread anymore.

Salim complained that if his men had been allowed to bring a saluki, the dog could have coursed for the desert hare and they might have enjoyed fresh meat. Fortunately he had shared this gripe only with Lazar, who kept it to himself. He didn’t need anyone fantasizing about fresh roasted meat when all they had was thin dried strips of goat that had been packed at the palace.

Still, it, together with the flatbread they cooked each evening, oil, dried fruits, and nuts kept them alive.

He knew everyone’s stomach was grinding as they began to adjust to this lean new diet and soon he imagined the gauntness that struck all desert travelers would begin to appear amongst the ranks of this party. His body was already wasted enough and he was sensible enough to take Jumo’s advice seriously that he should eat more.

“We can always kill one of the camels in the future.” Jumo had urged at the outset.

Salim had come up with a solution this morning when they had woken groggily to the screech of several falcons swooping above.

“If we could catch ourselves a bird, he could hunt hare and bustard, just as easily as a saluki.”

“How?” Lazar asked, intrigued.

“If we find the well today, we will have to rest the caravan and take that time to hunt a bird.” Lazar nodded, more out of fascination at the idea of trapping and taming a falcon than out of agreement.

“This well—you’re sure it’s about two hours from here?”

Salim shook his head. “There is no surety in the Empty, my friend.”

“Then—”

“But we have knowledge that a well should be two hours due west of here,” Salim finished.

Lazar accepted this—what else could he do but get the caravan moving in its westerly direction and hope the Khalid’s “knowledge,” as Salim put it, was true?

An unspoken truce had fashioned itself around the Spur and the Valide, and most in the party, including the Elim, were feeling less tension on the journey as a result. Lazar didn’t trust Herezah’s easy manner, of course—he had known her long enough to appreciate the masterful pragmatism she could demonstrate when cornered. Herezah had no doubt taken stock, realized that she had no supporters amongst this company, and decided that locking horns with the only person who was obliged to protect her was sheer madness. Lazar knew the Elim were entrusted with her care and safety, but she had punished them long enough that he was sure if it came to a choice between saving Ana or the Valide, they would choose the girl. The Spur was different. He was bound by oath allegiance to his Zar, her son. He was not so sure which way he would go if forced to make that same choice.

HEREZAH’S GOOD SENSE HADprevailed during this last week and she had bitten back her own fury, swallowed her pride, and allowed this uneasy peace between herself and the Spur to build. It certainly made for a less tempestuous time and she noticed that Lazar was dropping back from the head Page 247

of the caravan more frequently now to talk with the royal party. He seemed ever so slightly more relaxed—that is, she thought grimly, if a stern expression and distinct lack of humor could be considered relaxed.

She noticed he paid Ana no special attention and seemed to enjoy the Grand Vizier’s company, although once again, how did one tell if Lazar was enjoying anything? He certainly talked more to Tariq than to either of the two women. Ana was saying little enough anyway. The girl had become all but mute these past few days, withdrawing entirely into herself.

“What is wrong with you, child?” Herezah finally inquired. “Why don’t you speak?”

“Forgive me, Valide. I have kept to myself because I haven’t been feeling well.”

“What sort of unwell?” Tariq inquired gently. “Do you need more water? I can—”

“No, I’m not overly thirsty,” Ana replied. “I just feel slightly nauseous.” Herezah shared a sly glance with the Grand Vizier and knew they were wondering the same thing—whether Ana might already be pregnant.

“Don’t worry on my account,” Ana continued. “I’m perfectly capable of the journey, just not in the mood for conversation.”

“That’s all right, Zaradine Ana,” Maliz said, touching her arm. “Just keep us informed. We’re here to protect you.”

Ana gave him a small smile of thanks from behind her veil and returned to her silence. They rode on for another hour until Jumo dropped back this time, smiling widely and with information that was obviously good news.

“We have found the well. We shall stop here for the rest of the day, water the camels, and replenish our own stores.”

“I thought these beasts didn’t require watering,” Herezah said.

Even Maliz laughed at her statement. “Do you meanever, Valide?” he said, bowing to show he meant no disrespect, simply some levity. “Camels can go for long periods without water—in this case I think we’ve been traveling, what is it, seven full days?” Jumo nodded. “We will no doubt plot our journey by the availability of wells. The beasts need to drink for many hours to refresh themselves, but then they will be able to go another six days or so.”

Herezah didn’t reply but didn’t look abashed either. Camels were meaningless, smelly beasts of burden as far as she was concerned, and so long as one didn’t die beneath her, that was all she needed to know about them. “So we camp here?”

“Yes, Valide. The Spur, myself, and some of the Khalid are going hunting after the watering but the Elim will remain to guard you.”

“Hunting?” Herezah said, her eyebrows arching with surprise. “What?”

“Falcons,” Jumo replied, unable to conceal his excitement.

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“Oh, I should like to see that,” the Grand Vizier said. “Include me in the party.”

“I shall let the Spur know your wish, Grand Vizier.”

THE ATMOSPHERE AROUND THEcamp was almost festive as the tents went up far earlier than usual, and everyone could sense the Khalids’ relief that they had found the promised well. It had been unused for a long time and was half buried, but nothing that three men digging hard for an hour couldn’t unearth. Before long the water was surging again, goatskins were being replenished, and the camels were happily restoring themselves. Men’s laughter could be heard and conversation was flowing in tandem with the water.

Lazar sipped the bitter nectar from the earth and grinned for the first time in ages. “Sherem!” he said to Salim.

“Sherem!” the Khalid echoed, offering up good health to all.

Pez turned cartwheels for everyone and the Khalid laughed and clapped. They had already worked out that the dwarf was insane but it troubled them not; they seemed to like the little man who entertained them with his acrobatics and obvious problem with flatulence, which curiously enough affected him only when the royal party was near.

“And now we hunt the falcon,” Salim said to Lazar. “Come.” Jumo had already mentioned to Lazar that the Vizier was keen to observe the hunt, and though Lazar had greeted this news with a grimace, he could hardly refuse, so the Grand Vizier, together with Lazar, Jumo, a babbling Pez, and four of the Khalid, set off, having taken their leave of the women and the rest of the party.

They moved slowly on foot, for the sun was scorching the sands this day. Nothing moved except them, not even a scorpion or snake. And then they heard it, the high-pitched shriek of the two falcons that had seemed to be following them the past few days.

Lazar mentioned this to Salim, who agreed. “These birds are patient. They wait, they watch, they are opportunists who never know when something might move that they can hunt and eat.”

“So what do we lure them with?”

Salim touched his nose in a knowing way. “Watch,” he said, and pointed to one of his men, who dragged from a sack at his waist a plump pigeon.

Everyone’s mouth went slack. “He’s had that with him the whole way?” Lazar asked incredulously.

Pez waddled up and stroked the pigeon’s head, licking his lips in an obscene way.

“Very lucky none of us discovered that stowaway until now,” the Vizier commented, for once agreeing with the dwarf. “I love roasted pigeon.”

“What now?” Lazar asked.

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“We make a hide. Only one man can do this, so you will have to simply watch from a distance. It requires patience, so if any of you don’t think you can make it through an hour or more of absolute stillness beneath this sun, you should return to the camp now.” Lazar nodded. “We understand.” He looked around at the party and translated. No one blinked. “I think everyone here wants to remain. We’ll need some shade, though.” Three of the Khalid unraveled sand-colored fabric that had been tied around their waists.

“This is what we use,” Salim said as the lengths were given to the Percherese. “From the sky, if we remain still and upwind, the falcon will not know we are here.” The Khalid showed the uninitiated how to set up their shade, even how to sit. And then the Percherese watched with great interest as the men of the desert set about digging a shallow hole into the sand to create the hide with yet more of the fabric on top. Once that was completed, Salim came over to remind his audience of the need for silence and stillness. As he climbed into the hole, Pez began to sing softly and Lazar quieted him with a gentle touch to the dwarf ’s shoulder.

“Why is he here?” Maliz asked, his tone still good-humored, and yet there was a sense of irritation beneath the inquiry.

“For the same reason you are, Grand Vizier.”

“He’s told you he wanted to witness this, did he?”

“In his way, yes. I have known Pez for almost two decades, as you have, and I understand him through his eccentricities.”

The Grand Vizier did not look convinced and was about to say so when he was interrupted.

“Hush,” Jumo murmured. “They are ready. Do you see, they have tied a length of all but invisible string to the leg of the pigeon, its other end to a stone. The falcons are still here, hovering, circling. They are peregrine—shahin—and highly prized.”

“Do they not use the hawk?” Maliz whispered, captivated by the unfolding scene.

“They prefer the shahin for their speed, courage, and tenacity. A shahin does not give up.”

“So why would they ever use a hawk? I’ve seen them used on the gravel plains.”

“My understanding,” Jumo whispered as Lazar wondered when Tariq had ever visited the gravel plains two hundred miles north of Percheron, “is that the hawk—or hurr, as the desert tribes call it—has better eyesight and is more suited to that region.”

Maliz nodded, satisfied, seemingly unaware of questions silently flying around him.

Lazar believed the demon had made his first real mistake in his effort to conceal his two identities. Lazar knew for a fact that Tariq had not done much traveling beyond the city’s borders and also that the Vizier—as he’d spent most of his life at the palace—would have sneered at anything connected with the desert.

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“The Khalid will launch her now,” Jumo whispered.

“You know a great deal about this, my friend,” Lazar murmured. “I’m impressed.” Jumo shrugged. “We hawked as youngsters but we were told stories about the desert tribes of the Great Waste and their shahin. I feel privileged to share this.”

Lazar smiled inwardly. Jumo suddenly looked like a boy again in his obvious excitement.

“Here she goes,” Jumo warned. And at his words, the pigeon was thrown aloft. With a great flapping of wings she steadied in the air and then began to ascend, the string unraveling behind her.

The falcons noticed her immediately, for a pigeon is hardly silent in its bustling effort to rise. One flew behind her, banked, and then dipped its wing, shaping itself into an arrow that would swoop through a killing arc. The men watched, enthralled, as the pigeon, still ascending and unaware of the danger, was hit at full force and killed in the air before both birds toppled back to the sands.

Salim cautiously appeared and stealthily made his way to the stone to which the string was still attached.

Up ahead the bird of prey was tearing at feathers and flesh.

Jumo spoke softly as Pez, seemingly disinterested, unraveled a long thread from his robes, smiling at its endless length. “The falcon always faces upwind so it cannot pick up the scent of the man,” Jumo explained. “It is also gorging now, not paying as much attention to its surrounds as it might otherwise. It is vulnerable in these moments only. Watch.”

The string was ever so slowly reeled back in and the falcon came closer and closer until it was barely a stride away from where Salim was secreted in the hide. The hunting bird seemed to be so engrossed in its kill that it didn’t even sense the reaching arms and only realized it was caught when the Khalid began shouting and cheering.

The group returned to camp triumphantly and everyone watched with fascination as Salim threaded a piece of cotton through each of the bird’s lower lids and tied the ends at the top of its head, drawing the lids up so the falcon was blinded.

“How long does it take to train him?” Herezah asked, fascinated.

“Depending on her intelligence, she can be ready in a week.” Sounds of surprise came from the audience.

“That fast?” Lazar asked, incredulous.

Salim nodded. “I promise you, meat in a week.”

That night, everyone slept well and happy at the thought of fresh meat—everyone, that is, except one: Ana did not eat birds.

PEZ FELT UNUSUALLY RESTLESS. He lay on his back, hands behind his head, and looked with Page 251

awe at the canopy of stars winking in concert. Pez knew it was impossible but it felt to him as if a storm was brewing. He had always been sensitive to weather changes–as a child, he would start acting oddly, become agitated, unable to concentrate or be still, hours before thunder and lightning occurred. That’s how he felt now, and even though he had—in private, at least—grown out of the immature behavior of running in circles or making a lot of noise when a lightning storm was coming, he had never lost the sensation of inward turmoil.

It had not happened that often over the years, if he was honest. Living in Percheron meant temperate weather most of the year, but from time to time a storm would hit, bringing with it the fire in the sky that so excited him and yet also gave him a sense of doom…the sinister thunder rolls in the distance always suggested to him that something ominous was coming.

There was no lightning and certainly no thunder now—just a supremely clear and starry night that was frigidly cold despite the heat of the low fire the Percherese slept close to. The Khalid preferred to sleep alongside their camels, using the warmth of the beasts to heat them. Pez could see that even Lazar was snoozing—no doubt lightly—but the rhythmic rise and fall of the man’s chest suggested he was asleep.

He sat up and smiled to himself. He might be one of the few people, ever, to see Lazar relaxed in slumber. In repose, Lazar looked younger, the flames of the fire smoothing out the lines of his face and the hollows in his cheeks that had so deepened with his illness. In truth, this journey, despite all of its danger, was helping Lazar to recover better than any potion or quiet existence on an island ever could.

Lazar was a man of action. Pez nodded—yes, the journey itself would do him immense good, but he still appreciated the un-troubled, no longer grave countenance that the quiet suspension of sleep brought to Lazar. He almost wished he could wake Ana and show her how friendly Lazar could look…so long as he wasn’t awake.

He silently stirred himself and climbed to his feet to stretch. The thought of Ana prompted him to get up and climb out of the warmth of his blankets—he had no idea why. Now that he was up he thought he might as well move.

Glancing at Lazar, he noticed that his friend’s eyes were suddenly wide open.

“Ah,” he whispered. “And there I was thinking how peaceful you looked.” No one else stirred. Jumo was snoring and the royal tents were still. None of the Khalid moved.

“I was—you woke me.”

“I was silent,” Pez hissed.

“You’re like one of the Zar’s elephants moving around.” And the edge of his mouth creased in a grin but was gone as swiftly as it had arrived. “What are you doing anyway?”

“Going to relieve myself.”

Lazar nodded, closed his eyes, and rolled over. “Don’t go far,” he murmured.

Pez hadn’t known he was going anywhere until this moment. Pulling his blanket around his shoulders, uncaring of its dragging along the sands, he made for the closest dune that was still well away from the main camp.

He turned to look back. In the tiny circle of light that the small fire threw out, everyone appeared fast Page 252

asleep. He cursed his luck that he wasn’t sleeping as well, especially as he had felt tired enough to be one of the first to snuggle beneath his blankets, singing a lullaby to himself about cranberry sherbet. Pez slipped into the black void behind the dune and decided he might as well relieve himself now that he was there. As the stream of hot liquid brought the familiar sound of all things normal and his bladder thanked him for this unexpected comfort, a voice spoke to him. Both bladder and its flow froze with fear.

“Pez, thank you for coming.”

“Who—”

She materialized beside him, her own glow giving him just sufficient light to recognize her.

“Ellyana.”

“Are you done?” she asked, smiling so kindly that he didn’t even register any embarrassment as he covered himself.

“How did you—”

“Always so many questions. Come, we have things to discuss.”

“Come where? If I’m gone for more than a few moments, Lazar will—”

“He will not know. Trust me.”

She led him deeper into the desert toward a nearby dune, which, when he arrived closer, he realized held some sort of rocky cave at its base.

“Why didn’t we see this when we made camp?”

“You don’t have to whisper, Pez. No one can hear us.” She smiled. “The sands hide and the sands reveal, as they choose. There are plenty of rocky outcrops and cave systems in the desert but most are covered by the sands.”

“What are you doing here?” He had lost his initial shock and decided to be direct. Ellyana had a talent for being vague.

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why not the others?”

“Well, to begin with, I suspect Jumo wishes to stick a blade into me.” He frowned. “You may be right.”

“Although I also suspect that deep down he’d admit that he’d go through the same pain and ordeal if it meant life for Lazar.”

“I suspect he would. Jumo is loyal to the death.”

“Yes, he is. Poor Jumo,” she said, looking at the sky, her tone wistful.

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“What does that mean?”

She shrugged. “He is a good man.”

“What do you want, Ellyana?”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Your tasks have a way of turning nasty. You know about Zafira, presumably?” There was no friendship in his tone now as he recalled the devastating moment when he discovered his old friend, impaled on her own temple’s spire. All for the sake of her faith and the demon who hunted his followers.

“That was the work of Maliz.”

“Your hands have her blood on them, too, Ellyana. You put her into that danger. She had nothing to fight him with, no wings, no magic, probably no idea he was even coming for her.”

“Zafira went to her death willingly, Pez. She was brave, she was old, and she was ready to sacrifice herself for Lyana.”

“Lyana! I’m sick of hearing her name! She is not Ana. You have led me wrong. You have lied and cajoled and gotten us all to do your bidding, but I’m no longer your servant, Ellyana.” In his anger and frustration he startled himself as he realized that he might begin to weep.

She noticed it, too. “This is a cause worth weeping over, Pez. Your memories as Iridor will tell you that lives have been lost in many ways and on so many occasions that for their sake alone—for their endeavors and their bravery—we must fight on. We have no choice, my friend. You are Iridor and you have a reason for being.”

Pez hung his head. “She calls him friend now.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice tender again. “But she is safe for now.”

“How? How can he spend time with her and touch her and not know?”

“I warned that this time it would be different,” she replied, more cautiously now, he noticed. Pez had learned that when Ellyana took this approach, she was usually not telling the full truth, using her talent to divert him.

“Why can’t you just be honest and tell us what you know?” he demanded.

“Because you must trust. The less each knows, the better…and Pez, I am but a servant, like you. Don’t presume that I have all the answers.”

“But you never give us any answers, only questions.”

“I am not your enemy.”

“Sometimes it feels as if you are,” he grumbled.

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“Please, Pez, trust me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

She whispered something to him then. His eyes widened and his mouth opened in disbelief.

“I cannot,” he murmured. “I will not.”

“You must!” she insisted. “For her sake, you must. It is her protection.” He began to look around wildly, desperate for someone to save him, ridiculously hopeful that Lazar would step around the dune now and demand to know what was going on.

“Pez, you are Iridor. You are the messenger, the go-between, the only conduit we have.” She tried to give him something but he let it slip to the sand.

“I cannot,” he repeated.

Ellyana picked up what he had dropped and pressed it into his gnarled hands. “You must,” she urged.

“Trust me,” she beseeched, and her expression was one of such supplication that all that was Iridor within him responded and he clutched her gift to his breast, tears leaking down his misshapen face.

“Go now, my precious one. This time we fight the battle with stealth and cunning.”

“And we shall win,” he said, trying not to make it a question but a mantra to cling to.

“We will win,” she assured.

He watched Ellyana fade into the darkness of the night desert until he was alone, suddenly cold again.

He looked at what he clutched near his heart and felt a stab of fear at what he had been charged to do.

Pez didn’t know how long he stayed in that position or when he finally decided to pick his way back to the camp, but as he pushed himself deeper into his blankets Lazar spoke.

“That was quick,” he mumbled. “Now sleep, Pez.”

The little man wriggled closer to the fire, but no amount of heat was going to smother the chill he felt in his heart at Ellyana’s bidding.

30

The next week passed in a slow cycle of repetitive days. Herezah no longer complained and was one of the first to rise, dress carefully in her desert robes, and be ready to travel. She now ate walking, on camel back, or whenever she was hungry—she no longer demanded ceremony, although Lazar had to admit she maintained a great elegance in all that she did, even here in the desert. He allowed each member of the royal party one bowl of water every three days to wash and appreciated how hard this was for someone like Herezah, who had known daily bathing rituals since she was a little girl. But the Valide did not complain. It seemed the release from the harem that this journey afforded her had offered her a glimpse at how life could be without plotting and cunning, without always looking ahead to where the next iota of power could be gained over the people she was forced to share her life with.

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Lazar understood. The desert was a great equalizer. As he had told her, there was no status out here.

Survival meant everyone helping one another, respecting one another, sharing…all concepts the Valide had forgotten or gradually had had squeezed out of her in the selfish, single-minded existence of the harem.

Ana was quiet and eating little. Lazar asked Herezah how the Zaradine was faring and she simply waved her hand and told him not to worry.

“All new wives become broody and introverted. She’ll get over it.”

“She’s not eating much.”

“Are you keeping such a close eye, Lazar?” she asked, eyebrow arched. She meant it in jest but of course Lazar wasn’t used to genuine lightheartedness from the Valide. He was accustomed to her fluctuating between viciousness and lustful-ness—there had never been an in-between.

“She is the reason for this perilous journey, Valide,” he answered gravely. “Of course I’m keeping a close eye on her.” In fact it was Pez who had told him that Ana was not eating much, for the dwarf liked to be around the cookpot for the evening meal and the group allowed him to stir the broth or cook the flatbread—a simple enough task, even for an idiot. He shared the duties with the mute called Salazin, who was in charge of supervising the preparation and presentation of all the royal food. Pez liked to dish the food out, too, and he always bowed rather comically to the Zaradine before handing her a bowl and bread, urging her to eat, watching her take her first ladleful or bite, but somehow managed to spill the Valide’s broth on the rare occasion one was cooked, or drop the Grand Vizier’s bread in the sand.

“Well, you have no reason to fret. She has complained of an upset belly but I have given her something for that. It will ease.”

“Perhaps she will brighten with some fresh meat.”

“I think we all will. This diet is excellent for preserving one’s figure but it makes me feel weak. I need blood now and then, Lazar,” she said, eyeing him directly.

Lazar left it at that, for the conversation was going in a direction he didn’t like, but he intended to keep his own watch over the Zaradine. She appeared to have faded these past couple of days. She no longer watched him, and he didn’t believe she had spoken more than a few words to anyone recently. If she was sickening, Lazar needed to know.

He asked the Valide and even the Grand Vizier, but if either had suspicions, neither of them shared their thoughts as to why the Zaradine was so suddenly off color.

ON THIS EVENING THEYwere sitting around the usual three campfires. The Khalid sat around their own conversing in their curious language that sounded as though they were always arguing with one another. Lazar, Jumo, and Pez tended to range between either the Khalid’s fire and that of the royal party. The Elim kept themselves entirely separate around their own fire, although never far from their two female royals.

Tonight Lazar and Jumo sat with the royals. Pez was dancing a jig for the Elim, who sang for him. The royal party watched the Khalid, particularly Salim with his falcon.

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“Have they named him?” Herezah asked.

“It’s a female falcon. She’s simply called Shahin,” Jumo answered.

“Why do they stroke her all the time? I don’t think that man has been separated from the bird since he trapped it. He even sleeps with it tied to a post near his face.” Jumo nodded. “That’s right, Valide. When they are training a bird to the lure, the person who is taming it must give it every moment. He talks to her, touches her all the time, keeps her close. The bird gets used to the particular man but also the talk of men, the movements of men, so she will not be startled by us.

They will brand her soon on the beak with Salim’s mark and she will then be fully his—companion, provider, friend.”

“So the falcon can definitely hunt?” Herezah asked, her eyes glittering in anticipation.

“She is magnificent on the wing.”

Both Herezah and the Grand Vizier sighed. “It will certainly be nice to taste some fresh meat again,” Maliz admitted. The flatbread diet was wearing on everyone now. The cheese and fruit were dished out sparingly and had become such a treat that Herezah admitted she couldn’t imagine what it would be like to sit down to a palace meal again with all of its decadence and sophistication.

“How much longer, Lazar?” she said to the Spur, who was deep in thought, his hollowed face even more handsome in its gauntness. His guarded expression looked more vulnerable now and the chin he no longer kept rigorously shaven had a thin close growth of hair. He was beginning to look like one of those priests they’d heard about who did special penance by living in the desert for weeks on end.

But then Lazar always looked as though he were doing penance. Nevertheless, when he raised his eyes to her to answer, she felt the familiar thrill of being close to him and his attention given to her. In the past she would take that attention whether it was accompanied with his usual gruffness or just his disdain.

Since she had realized she had no allies and was making an effort to cooperate, she had noticed a slackening of that cool aloofness he maintained. She had discovered he was even capable of conversation and had been stunned a few days back when he had joined herself, Ana, and the Grand Vizier and spent an hour talking about desert life, even reminiscing about his first experience with it and making his escape toward Percheron.

It had been so tempting to ask why he had needed to flee Galinsea, but the truth was that Herezah was, for a rare time, enjoying the simple pleasure of conversation and the even greater pleasure of seeing Lazar relaxed in her company—even smiling, praise Zarab—so much that she was not prepared to risk the moment in curiosity. She knew what would have happened. He would have thrown down the shutters of his mind, his face taking on that sober, blank expression as though chiseled in stone, and he would have made some excuse to leave them. And so she had promised herself to do nothing but listen and revel in his refreshingly easy manner for however long Zarab granted it last.

Lazar replied after several moments of calculation. “If we continue at this pace, which is relatively good, I imagine at the new moon.”

“Twenty-two more days of this?”

“I’m afraid so,” he answered her.

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She shrugged but noticed the surprise flit across his face at her complacency. Perhaps the desert was doing her a power of good.

“Zaradine Ana, are you keeping up your water intake?” Lazar continued gently.

She nodded wanly. “Yes, of course. You gave us strict instructions.”

“You are very quiet.”

“I am fine, Spur, thank you.”

“Perhaps we can offer you some dates. The sugar will help.”

“I couldn’t eat anything more,” she said softly.

Looks passed around the fire. She hadn’t eaten anything of substance, barely nibbled at her bread.

“I think we should all get some sleep,” Lazar advised. “We will get up a little earlier than usual tomorrow as we’ll need to give some time in the cooler hours of the day to hunting the desert bustard.”

“They’re definitely here?” Herezah’s eyes gleamed; she was determined to eat well tomorrow evening.

Jumo answered. “Yes, we have seen them and they are relatively plentiful in this region.”

“Sweet dreams, all, then,” the Grand Vizier said, rising and stretching. “Come, Zaradine, let me escort you to your tent.”

Lazar scowled, but he covered his expression quickly and offered to walk Herezah back to the tent.

With an expression of surprised delight she took his arm. Nevertheless he kept his eyes facing rigidly forward on the back of the Grand Vizier, who now put his arm around Ana’s small figure as they strolled back to the accommodation.

SHAHIN WAS BEAUTIFUL,LAZAR decided, and so proud as she rode on the arm of Salim.

“She is tame now,” Salim told him. “She will always enjoy a man as her companion now.”

“Is she not attached to just one man? You?”

“Only to begin with. We sell our birds all the time, and so long as they are treated well, they will cleave to a new owner. But this one is special. There is an intensity to this falcon I have not seen in a long time.

And she learns so fast. She is valuable.”

“So you will not be selling her?”

“Never.”

Jumo and one of the Khalid riders arrived excited.

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“They’re just over the rise—at least four of them,” Jumo said.

Lazar actually smiled. He had never seen Jumo so animated and could understand that his friend was reliving a boyhood memory with this hunt. He wondered why they had never hunted with birds before, the two of them. Perhaps they’d do so when they returned to Percheron.

“If we had dogs it would be easier. Dogs and falcons are invincible when they work together,” Salim moaned.

Lazar hadn’t realized that the salukis and shahin would normally work in partnership. “Can she kill enough for us?”

“Oh yes, but the bustard is a fearsome prey. It fights hard to its death and it also squirts an oily muck at its predator. It will take many days before we can fully clean a falcon of the mess on her feathers. That’s why we usually use dogs and more than one bird.”

“How many can Shahin take alone?”

Salim shrugged. “A good one can probably kill up to eight or nine, but she will take six or seven on the wing to half that on the ground.”

“So we have to get the bustards moving?”

“Yes, my friend, that’s your job.”

And so with guidance from the other Khalid men, Lazar and Jumo, with Pez flapping his arms and hobbling alongside mimicking the bustards, flushed the fat desert birds from their hollows in the sand.

It was several hours of mighty battles for Shahin. Sometimes the fight with her prey would rage over forty yards. Salim was right; the bustard was a warrior. Oil was splotched darkly over the golden ground in its attempts to thwart its attacker. But Shahin was wily and had obviously hunted this prey on many occasions when she was wild, for she nimbly avoided being coated. She was not so successful in avoiding blows from its wings, and on her third kill was stunned by one of these blows. Salim finished off the dying bustard, breaking its neck, for he was worried about his falcon. She came around, though, and within a short while was taking her fourth bustard, attacking initially on the wing and then killing it fully on the sands.

“A beautiful sight,” Jumo murmured as they watched the two birds tussle in the air and then plummet behind a particularly large dune.

“Ah, if we had the dogs, this would be so much easier.” Salim sighed.

“I’ll get it…and her,” Jumo said in high excitement, sprinting off toward the dune.

“Have you ever seen him like that?” Pez asked, out of earshot of the others, as he looked at Lazar’s uncharacteristically open and grinning expression.

“Not in all the time I’ve known him,” Lazar said, scratching his head. “We’re definitely going to do this again, Jumo and I. We shall train our own birds and hunt regularly once this is all done.”

“And grow old together—you make a fine pair,” Pez said, with only a hint of sarcasm.

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“You know what I mean. This is fun. Jumo and I spend so much time in our dutiful pursuits for the throne that we forget to stop sometimes and just do things like this.” Lazar waved at where Jumo was just scrambling over the dune, his arms cartwheeling as he reached the summit. “Simple sport, utterly carefree.” He laughed as his friend turned and waved before disappearing at a full run down the other side.

Pez touched his arm. “Keep that promise. It is very good for your disposition, too,” he said, winking. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so relaxed.”

Lazar’s smile faded. “You know, Pez, I’ve never felt quite as carefree as I do at this moment. I know it’s not true but right now I feel as though I have no responsibilities, no duty to anyone, no politics or diplomacy to consider…nothing but freedom and enjoying being amongst a companionable group. I feel closer to Salim in this short time we’ve known each other than I have to anyone in Percheron in almost two decades, save yourself and Jumo.”

“That’s because you let Salim in. You’re so controlled all the time, Lazar. So deliberately distant that no one can be your friend. You only like the rare underdogs. You let me in because I was a freak and allowed you to discover my secret; and you let Jumo in because he was different, not one of the Percherese. Salim is Khalid—that makes him different, exotic, and, of course, he speaks another language, so that makes him entirely inaccessible to the rest of the party except yourself and Jumo. And then there’s Ana—”

“Don’t, Pez. It’s hard enough. I need no reminding.”

The dwarf sighed. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your light mood. Without the Vizier around, thank Lyana he felt obliged to keep Ana company, we can all be carefree,” and he began to mimic soaring like Shahin. “I’m going to find Jumo and our wonderful falcon,” he called behind his back, flapping his arms and struggling up the sand dune.

The other men were already excitedly running up the dune to catch Jumo, with Pez in hot pursuit, pretending to chase them down as Shahin had done her latest kill. Lazar paused alone in the sands to savor this moment of pleasure.

He heard a shout go up in the distance—it was Pez, he thought—and assumed the celebrations were in full swing. They would be eating bustard tonight and perhaps Ana might brighten as well. Lazar ran up the dune, his long legs sinking into the soft golden sand, and he was still inwardly grinning when he reached the top. There he was faced with a sight more chilling than he could ever have imagined.

His mood evaporated in an instant as he stared death coldly in the face.

31

Back at the camp Ana was vomiting. She had eaten little for her first meal of the day but even that tiny amount was now staining the sands well beyond the royal tent.

“Well, if her womb has quickened—and it sounds promising—we may have begun securing your son’s throne, Valide.” Maliz secretly wished he’d gone with the hunting party but he hadn’t been able to resist Ana’s pleas when, frightened by her worsening state, she had begged him to stay.

“I suppose I should be pleased.” Herezah sighed, fanning herself to stir the hot air beneath their canopy.

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“I just wish it wasn’t hers.”

“Why do you hate her so? She is good for your son.”

“No, she’s not, Tariq. He is besotted with her. Boaz needs more wives if he is to truly secure his throne.”

“And you think he won’t because of Ana.”

“Boaz has developed such a fascination for this girl that I don’t notice him taking any interest in any of the other beautiful young women we have assembled for him. This is dangerous.” Maliz understood more than Herezah wanted him to. He accepted her reasoning, knew what she said was right, but he also knew Herezah’s main concern was how much power might be given to Ana if she remained Boaz’s only mate. It was not so far beyond the realm of imagination that she could rise to be not only Zaradine and Absolute Favorite but also potentially Valide within ten moons.

“Dangerous for whom, Valide?”

“For all of us, Grand Vizier. Surely you’re not naive enough to believe that one woman for the Zar is how the new regime will shape itself. It is wrong. Joreb will curse his choice of successor.”

“Joreb chose well, Valide. He chose well with his Favorite and he chose well with her son.” Herezah eyed the Grand Vizier and felt momentarily lost for words. “You know, Tariq, you could have said those same words to me two years ago and I would simply have sneered at you for the sniveling, self-important, and oily character that you once were. Now I take them as the compliment you intended.”

“I’m glad of this. It is sincerely meant, Valide, but then I speak only the truth.”

“You never did before.”

“Before what?” he asked, amused.

“Before Joreb died, before Boaz took the throne and you went through some sort of change, emerging from your chrysalis, to give us this new sober, intelligent, charismatic Vizier.”

“Charismatic?” he echoed, and smiled seductively.

“I swear you’re a different man, Tariq. You didn’t buy some special magic, did you, along with that magical potion you told me of that keeps you suddenly young and virile?”

“Virile?” Now he sounded disbelieving.

“Don’t be coy, I see you looking at women now.”

“Why wouldn’t I? Surrounded by such beauty.”

“Tariq, I have known you all of my life and not once have you looked at me in the way you look at me now. I see how you look at Ana, I see how you appreciate all women from slave to dignitaries’ wives whenever they’re permitted to attend formal functions. It is perfectly normal, I agree, it’s just that before Page 261

Joreb died, you were all but sexless.”

Maliz clapped his hands and openly laughed. “Let’s just say I hid it well, Valide. There was no room for my true personality at the palace under Joreb. The sycophant suited him.”

“He hated you.”

“But I suited you, always ready to play the willing servant,” he added, seemingly unfazed by her candidness.

“What changed you?”

“Boaz can benefit from me being honest.”

She felt he was speaking in riddles, giving her no clear answers, but pressed on. “What are your intentions with Boaz?”

He became more serious, intense. “You have nothing to fear from me, Valide. Be assured of this. My interests lie elsewhere than in power and money. I do not want to be the puppeteer, simply a reliable adviser.”

“Then you truly have changed,” she said, genuinely surprised. “Your whole life with Joreb was spent in petty power struggles with Salmeo, gaining little ground or respect for yourself out of any situation.”

“Yes, and I didn’t enjoy it, Valide, but I served a purpose and I served Joreb loyally through it all.” She acknowledged the truth of what he said with a nod. “And now?”

“Still happy to serve.”

“Without seeking power or reward?”

“Reward comes in all shapes and sizes and all colors, Valide.” Again the shaded answer, she thought.

“With Boaz as Zar, we all have the opportunity to help him shape Percheron into the single most powerful realm of the region. We are easily the richest but now we need to add strength with ships, and our army. We must learn to secure our boundaries at the desert and we now have an opportunity to forge a formal peace with Galinsea that might secure the Percherese from that threat for centuries. And we will all benefit in the ways we desire, I’m sure.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It can be if people like yourself stop chasing your own little plans and simply support the Zar. You want for nothing as Valide and I know Boaz admires you tremendously—would appreciate your input frequently—but you trouble him with your desire to use him toward your own ends. If you don’t mind me being frank, Valide, you should have no ends of your own. You are a woman. You cannot rule…not ever. But you can have a different sort of power if you’ll only relent. Give up your own mission—whatever that was or is—and give yourself over entirely to Boaz’s needs. I think you’ll be surprised at how much he will reward you for that kind of support.” Herezah tapped her front teeth with a fingernail that no longer shone as she liked.

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Maliz continued. “Your association with Salmeo—and the depths to which it has stooped,” he added, knowing she understood his meaning without him verbalizing it, “will not serve you well in the long run.

Salmeo is dangerous and he himself stands on shaky ground. He has taken incredible risks because he probably believes he has your protection. I’m sure you know that Boaz has no time for him and is ever suspicious of him. If he could have accused the Grand Master Eunuch properly for the attempt on the Spur’s life, Salmeo would no longer be drawing breath.”

“It was proven as Horz. The man admitted it,” Herezah replied.

“And you know that Horz being a murderer is as likely as me becoming a young man again.” He smiled, a wicked glint in his eye. He had already decided that when this battle with Lyana was done and he had destroyed her once again, he would be choosing the body of a young man to inhabit, no matter what the cost to his energies. He was weary of creeping around in the bodies of old men and women, living in squalor to await the next cycle. No, this time he planned to enjoy the time of peace in luxury with a body that allowed him the freedom to take full advantage of such decadence. He was going to especially enjoy the pleasures of women.

He had, in fact, already decided on his next victim. It was too irresistible now that he’d allowed himself to become so involved with the power struggles in the palace. Who better than Boaz? Then he could not only sleep with any number of the beautiful creatures in the harem but he could finally taste the delicacy that was Ana. He would be gentle with Boaz as he died. He genuinely liked the young man and rather pitied that he must perish, but he coveted the Zar’s body and his position more than he was affected by any reservation of conscience. His smile widened at the thought of giving lots of heirs to Percheron.

“Fret not, Valide, I will promise you something.”

“What is that?”

“Many wives for your son and plenty of heirs—in fact I think I can promise you that Boaz will lie with virtually every woman in your precious harem. What’s more, I’ll even let you choose the heir.”

“You will!” she echoed, incredulous.

He chuckled, cleared his throat, feigning embarrassment. “What I meant to say is, I feel very sure that Boaz will be guided by you in his choice of heir.”

“How can you guarantee me that?” she demanded, bafflement in her face.

“Just trust me, Valide. You know Boaz already does. Throw your considerable intelligence and wiles behind your son. Forget everything else—join me, help me build his power base. We can make him the most invincible Zar that has ever ruled Percheron—and then everything you desire, save you actually ruling, will come to you.”

“You want me to trust you?”

He nodded. “Start with Ana,” he said. “She is probably carrying your grandchild. And she and that child begin your future.”

Herezah hesitated but only briefly. “All right, Grand Vizier, you have my word. When this task is done, I shall give you my trust and we shall see how well you can keep a promise.” Page 263

Maliz pulled a smile across Tariq’s face. This was all so easy.

AS LAZAR CRESTED THEdune, he felt the blood drain from his veins. He was sure it was all pooling in his ankles, for his legs felt too heavy to move and his body felt suddenly clammy, despite the dry, intense heat.

Below him a thick silence reigned. Men looked up at him with stunned expressions of helplessness and the one who looked the most desolate of all was Jumo, already sunk to his thighs but holding Shahin carefully aloft.

“Quicksand?” Lazar croaked, incredulous.

Everyone nodded sorrowfully, even though the question needed no answer, and then the silence became suffocating, as Lazar picked his way carefully to stand alongside Pez.

Tingles of fear soared through his spine, stiffening his neck and drying out his mouth. Before Lazar could assess the situation or offer empty placations, Jumo spoke up.

“Sorry, Master.” He shrugged, making Shahin ruffle her feathers. “I should never have struggled. They say you can float on quicksand if you don’t move too much. I forgot that advice in my panic.” He switched to Khalid. “I’m going to throw Shahin. She will come to you, won’t she, Salim?” The Khalid mumbled that she would and they watched as Jumo, ever practical, launched the falcon, sinking still further for his efforts. She flew directly to Salim’s outstretched arm and he stroked her, squeezing back his own emotion.

“Salim,” Lazar barked, finding his voice. “What can we do?”

“Nothing, Spur,” the Khalid murmured. “Your man is lost to us.”

“Don’t say that! Do we have fabric?” he asked, pointing to the men’s waists, remembering the material they had fashioned canopies from. “Anything we can fashion a rope from?”

“We brought nothing,” Salim said, pulling at his robe to convey to the Spur that they had only the clothes they stood in.

“Then we use our clothes!” Lazar roared, pulling at his robes furiously. He was stripped to a loin cloth in moments.

“Lazar! Lazar!” Jumo called frantically, desperate to still his friend, win his attention.

Pez grabbed his arm. “Listen to him, Lazar.” Salim frowned, hearing the dwarf speak sense for the first time.

Lazar stopped his frantic activity, turning ashen-faced to his companion of so long. Around him the Khalid murmured softly at seeing the Spur’s damaged back, but Lazar heard nothing. He looked into the sad face of Jumo, who now spoke to him in soothing tones.

“It is too late, my friend. Look, I am already in past my waist. You cannot pull me out—unless we had Page 264

the camels, of course,” he said, “but they are too far away. Instead of false hopes and your rushing off to fetch those beasts in vain, I’d rather go calmly now with your face the last I see before I go to my god.” PEZ WATCHD WITH AGONYas Lazar fell to his knees. “Jumo…” His voice was so broken that Pez had to look away.

The dwarf turned his gaze to Salim, and the Khalid understood, quietly summoning his men with a small gesture. One by one they filed past, each touching his hand to head, lips, and heart, whispering, “May Lyana take you quietly to her breast.” Pez couldn’t believe what he was hearing; the desert people had not relinquished their faith in the Goddess, not out here in the Great Waste, where no one came to censure their spiritual devotion.

Salim was the last to offer his farewell to Jumo and then he turned to the dwarf and gave a small, sad smile. “It seems we have both exchanged a secret, brother,” he said, in halting Percherese.

“Indeed,” Pez murmured in flawless Khalid. “Yours is safe with me.” Salim nodded, risked laying a hand on the Spur’s bare, trembling shoulder, and squeezed gently, wincing at the sight of Lazar’s back—a maze of scar tissue—before he quietly moved away and over the dune, leaving the three friends and their new companion, death, to make their peace.

Jumo had sunk almost to his chest. “Forgive me for bringing this pain to you, Lazar.” Lazar was openly weeping now, although he made not a sound. “What can I do?” he begged in a distraught whisper.

“Let me go,” the brave man from the north beseeched. “And know you have been loved by another who has never had a better friend.”

“Pez!” Lazar looked around wildly. “The Lore. Surely you can—” Pez shook his head. “No,” he said sadly.

“You have magic. Lift him free.”

“I cannot.”

“Then keep him alive long enough for me to fetch the camels. I will hurry,” he said, frantically leaping to his feet. “We might have a chance.”

Pez knew irreparable damage would be wreaked on his friendship with the Spur with his next words if he was truthful, so he lied, hating himself for the deception. “The Lore does not work that way.”

“What do you mean? It’s magic! Look, man, he’s to his breast. Please, I beg you.” He fell again to the sand. Lazar looked a broken man, tears streaming down his face, on his knees, all but naked, his arms open in supplication.

It was only the memory of Ellyana’s visit that kept Pez strong and resolute. He did not falter, added more weight to his lie. “I have to be touching him for the Lore to work,” he snarled. And something inside Page 265

him broke as he watched Lazar wilt, his hands cupping his weeping face, his body racked with grief.

“Lazar.” It was Jumo, his voice still firm, filled with courage. “There is no time now. Listen to me. We never did speak of your parents. You must go on now. You must hurry and get to Galinsea. They are serious about this war and it has nothing to do with sacking Percheron for its riches. It is about you and you alone. And it is about revenge. No language barrier could prevent their understanding of my tidings.

They wept at my news that you were dead—I wept with them. It is over, Lazar, whatever happened between you and them all those years ago. They believe they’ve lost a son to their enemy. The heir to their Crown. Go to Galinsea and tell them they did not.”

With much effort Lazar dragged his head up and looked at his friend. Pez had never seen him so haggard. Not even at the flogging had he looked so completely broken emotionally. During the flogging he’d fought back. Fought back with grim silence and by somehow holding on to life. Right now he looked ready to give up all of his spirit and let grief kill him in the sands beneath the blazing sun.

“They want forgiveness?” Lazar asked Jumo incredulously, his voice tight as a drum.

Jumo shook his head sadly. “As far as they know, you are dead; forgiveness cannot be sought or given.

They want Percheron to pay and they’ll take that debt in blood, unless you and Ana prevent it.” The murderous sludge was inching toward his neck—it would not be long now. “I am ready to die, Lazar,” he said into the thick silence. “Do not let my passing stop your mission, or the Percherese will die, down to the last child. Your father didn’t need to tell me that, I could see it in his eyes. It was only your mother’s urging that convinced him to send the delegation, to give Percheron a chance to prepare itself.” Jumo was fully buried to his neck now and Pez was amazed at how calmly the man allowed himself to sink. There was not so much as a flicker of panic in his eyes. Here was a man resigned to his fate, accepting his lot and using his last moments to build the courage of his great friend to accept as well and to go on with life. Pez felt the pricks of tears at his own eyes and knew he, too, would never recover from this sad scene. Jumo displayed such courage and grace and the best Pez could do was to lie to him.

He hated himself. He could have saved Jumo, could have kept him somehow elevated in the quicksand long enough for camels to be brought and for him to be pulled free of death. But he could not risk openly using the Lore, not with Maliz so close, not with the demon paying him such close scrutiny. Before, he had escaped discovery because Maliz had stumbled across the Lore and not known what he was touching or to whom it belonged. And Pez had covered his tracks well. But out here, the coincidence would be too great. If Maliz detected magic it was obvious he would put it all together amongst only a handful of people in the desert. There was only Lazar and Pez to be suspicious of and Pez knew that Maliz had probably decided that Lazar was no threat—he was certainly not Iridor. And so in his fear that Iridor would be destroyed before he even fully discovered Lyana, he kept his Lore to himself and refused to risk using it so openly. Maliz would surely come rushing back with the rescue party and everyone would demand to know how Jumo had been kept from sinking. No, no! Too many questions, too much revealed…too much danger to the cause that was Lyana.

“I’m so sorry, Lazar,” Pez whispered as Jumo for the first time began to struggle to keep his chin high.

“Jumo,” Lazar croaked. “I have loved you better than any.”

“Don’t waste those words on me, my friend. Give them to Ana.” The mire began to close around the back of Jumo’s head, now turned to the scorching sun. “Lyana take me,” he cried to his Goddess, “I am ready.” And then somehow he pushed himself beneath the swallowing sands, no longer prepared to wait for death’s wet kiss.

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“Jumo!” Lazar roared as he leaped to his feet. “Jumo!” He continued screaming until his voice was hoarse and there was not so much as a mark upon the surface of the quicksand to show where his friend had been.

Lazar, his throat raw, his eyes red and angry, and his cheeks wet from helpless, useless tears, slipped once more to the hot sands in a silence thick with grief. After several long minutes had passed, by which time Pez could see Lazar’s naked skin burning, the dwarf rallied himself from his dark thoughts and pulled himself up the dune to fetch the others who were waiting on the other side in their own grim silence.

“He will need help,” he said.

Whether Lazar was aware of the tenderness shown to him that sorrowful day, Pez could not tell, but the Khalid gently picked him up from the burning sand and having sensed he would not permit himself to be dressed, they made no fuss, simply wrapped his robe around his scarred back.

“Walk, Spur,” Salim whispered, “he died with courage. Hold yourself proudly for him.” They were the right words to say, it seemed, for Lazar finally straightened. He took a moment to press his hands to his face, wiping away all trace of tears. Pez privately grieved that the carefree and wonder-filled expression that Lazar had worn that morning had been banished and the granitelike counte nance had returned. Pez wondered whether Lazar would ever let that sense of lightness enter his world again. He feared the Spur would remember moments of lightness only as dangerous and heartbreaking: the Galinsean love, Ana of course, and now the hunt—on each occasion he had opened himself up to pleasure and each time he had been left broken, having lost someone precious.

No, Pez didn’t think Lazar would return from this loss fully and he felt the bile gathering in this throat that he had permitted it to happen. He could have saved Lazar this pain, saved a life…two lives, in fact, if he counted Lazar’s, which would forever suffer by this experience.

One of the Khalid picked up the dead bustard and, with a soft murmuring of a prayer, tossed it into the quicksand where Jumo had been swallowed.

“That meat is tainted,” Salim said in explanation.

No one said anything more. The group, with hung heads, moved out silently from the now innocent-looking patch of desert where death had come to claim a life, leaving no mark that the man had ever existed, and walked with a heavy tread back to camp.

“AH,MEAT !”HEREZAH EXCLAIMED at the first sight of the men returning.

Ana, who had rallied these past hours and even gotten a blush back into her cheeks, noticed immediately that all was not right. “Something’s wrong,” she said. “Look at Lazar.” He wasn’t difficult to pick out at the best of times, but half naked it was all the easier.

“Zarab save us!” Herezah said, startled.

“They got the birds, I can see, so the hunt’s been successful,” the Grand Vizier said, frowning. “But Page 267

you’re right, Zaradine, there’s nothing triumphant about this arrival.”

“There’s one less of them,” Ana said suddenly, having had the wherewithal to count the party.

“Probably one of the tribal men has run off,” Herezah said, distracted by the sight of Lazar and the promise of a good meal tonight.

Ana joined the Grand Vizier, who had stood. She squinted. “I think it’s Jumo. I can’t see him.” Her fears were confirmed as the men drew closer, sorrowfully entering the outskirts of the camp, where the camels sat patiently.

Lazar strode past the royals but gave a swift glance to Ana, who saw the pain reflected in his eyes and lost her breath anticipating what was coming. Salim could speak only a smattering of Percherese. He tried to explain but it was hopeless. Pez could hardly translate in present company.

“What is going on here?” the Grand Master demanded.

Pez arrived flapping his make-believe wings but now stood still. “The sands swallowed Jumo,” he sang,

“the Spur has no appetite, and the fat birds fell from the sky.” He began to dance before flapping off.

The royal party looked back at the dazed group of men before them and one of the Khalid began to mimic sinking, struggling for breath.

“Drowning?” Herezah asked. “How do you drown in a desert?”

“Oh, this is ridiculous. Where is the Spur?” the Grand Vizier said. He walked to where Lazar was busying himself, grimly pulling back on his robes and tying back his hair. “Spur Lazar, we gather something has happened to your friend, Jumo. Would you settle our confusion, please?” His voice was low, kindly.

“Certainly,” Lazar said matter-of-factly, but there was a tone of danger in his voice now that even the Grand Vizier would be able to recognize as the sign of a man on the very edge of his emotions. “Jumo is dead. Quicksand. There was nothing we could do.”

“Spur, I can’t imagine—” The Grand Vizier reached out his hand to convey his condolences but Lazar stepped backward.

“I prefer to be alone.” It was all the courtesy he could show at this time. “Forgive me.” He pulled on his turban and walked away, Pez crawling on all fours beside him.

The Grand Vizier did not hear Lazar’s comment to the dwarf but Pez suddenly stopped, stood up, and watched the tall man stride away.

THE FRESH MEAT THEYhad all looked forward to tasted bitter in their mouths. Only Maliz, it seemed, took real pleasure in the roasted bustard. Even Herezah had the grace to dine quietly and sparingly in her tent, though Salim had urged all to eat the food that the gods had provided and that Shahin had risked her life to give them.

Through gestures he managed to convey this and the Vizier took up the torch for him, insisting everyone Page 268

in the royal party and all the Elim partake of this rare opportunity for freshly cooked food.

“We have a long journey ahead,” he counseled, “with no idea of when fresh meat will come our way again.”

They ate in moody silence. Pez was nowhere to be seen and Maliz presumed he might be with the Spur, but judging from the body language of both earlier, he was reluctant to assume that the dwarf was welcome at Lazar’s side. He wondered what had happened between them.

Herezah emerged and Maliz was surprised to see her thank the Khalid for their gift of meat. The men of the desert bowed to her. The desert did strange things to one, Maliz decided, and then he watched, intrigued, as she cut herself another piece of the roasted bird and reached for some of the cooling flatbread.

“You have a good appetite, I’m pleased to see, Valide,” he said, unable to mask all the sarcasm from his voice.

“I eat but little, Tariq, as you should know. This is for Lazar.” He smirked. “Good luck.”

“The point is, Grand Vizier, we cannot have our guide and protector dropping dead from starvation. I’m hoping to appeal to his practical side, at least persuade him to eat for his health, if not pleasure.”

“You’d do better, then, to let the Zaradine take that food to him.” Herezah bristled. “You think her persuasive powers are greater than mine?” He regarded her with a soft look of vexation. “Are you truly interested in his health, Valide, or would you also appreciate his company?” He stayed the inevitable rush of insults coming his way by raising a hand. “Forgive me. I simply mean that perhaps they can encourage each other through this maudlin time.

They are both miserable and neither is eating. We need both strong and healthy—they are our most important companions. The Spur as our guide into Galinsea and the Zaradine for the deal she must broker.”

Herezah did not respond, but she walked back to her tent and looked inside. A quiet exchange took place and Ana stepped out this time, pale and watchful.

“Come, Ana, you have a task to achieve,” Herezah said, and led the girl away from the camp to where they knew the Spur brooded.

THEY FOUND HIM WITHhis head between his knees, long arms encircling all, as if by closing himself off to the rest of the world, he could avoid its pain. He heard their soft footfall and raised his head.

Herezah saw Ana wince to see the grief in his face.

“Please.” He began shaking his head.

“Lazar, you must eat something. The desert is unforgiving, I’m discovering,” Herezah began softly, conversationally. “It makes no distinction. I gather it will happily kill the healthy without mercy, although it Page 269

prefers the malnourished, I’m sure.”

He nodded, but said nothing, although his expression showed a quirk of surprise. She knew what it was—he had never heard gentleness in her voice. Perhaps the Vizier was right, she thought—perhaps the desert does make strangers of us.

She pressed on. “The journey ahead is perilous enough—you’ve warned us of that so many times—without our adding to the danger through lack of food or care for ourselves.” Herezah pushed Ana forward as she continued arguing her case. “Please, eat something. I don’t care whether you don’t taste it or even want it. But we all care that you remain strong and see us through this trial. You need this meat.”

The Spur turned his gaze fully onto Herezah now and she felt the familiar weakness that his regard could always provoke. She was used to it being loaded with disdain and felt suddenly unsettled that on this night nothing but vulnerability was reflected in his eyes.

“Imagine what a fine counselor you could be to Boaz if only you’d…” He didn’t finish.

“Yes,” she said, a little more brightly, “the Grand Vizier urges the same. If I didn’t know better I’d think you two were in cahoots.” She tried to laugh but it came out a choked sound. “But none of you men has lived in the harem. You don’t know how it shapes everything about its inhabitants, how it turns you from a happy and carefree eight-year-old into someone who is forced to scheme in order to protect yourself.

No man can know the fear of bringing a son into this world when you know from his very first cry that he will probably be slaughtered—except you don’t know when—and that all that stands between him and the blade is what lies between your own legs and how well you wield that weapon.” She was breathing hard, was surprised by the effort it took to reveal her true emotion to this man…the only man she had ever wanted for her own—the one she hated more than any other because he wouldn’t capitulate to her.

Lazar looked at the ground and Herezah had to wonder whether he felt a prickle of shame as she continued: “No man can know what it is to fight every day of your life to secure your own and your child’s longevity. This fight means shutting yourself off toeverything from friendship to pity. Compassion, care, sympathy—they are all emotions I have not been able to risk, Lazar, and after a lifetime of having to be strong and ruthless, of keeping all weakness at bay, you forget how to even touch again on those emotions.” She unveiled herself and he saw the movement, raised his head to look at her. “I have only this,” she said, pointing to her face, “to win favor, and this,” she said, pointing to her head now, “to use that favor to its best effect. I won, Lazar, because of my face, my body, my wits. My son was not slaughtered. My son is Zar.”

He watched her for several moments before he replied, Ana’s presence hardly registering with him at this moment. “Then your work is done, Herezah. You have succeeded in your life’s mission. Boaz is safe.

You are safe. It is time to tear down the barriers and be the person you might have been had you not been attached to the palace.”

“I might say the same to you,” she replied swiftly, “except we are creatures of habit, you and I; we are too old perhaps to change what we’ve become.”

“It is never too late,” he murmured.

“I shall try, then, if you will,” she challenged. “I am genuinely sorry for the loss of your companion. I Page 270

didn’t know him until this journey, but when I bothered to notice, he seemed pleasant, intelligent company. And anyone who calls you friend clearly is something special, seeing as how you let virtually no one into your life. So do the right thing by this man. Begin by eating something.” Herezah nodded at Ana, who moved to hold the plate out to him and spoke for the first time. It struck the Valide that her soft tones touched Lazar as tenderly as if she had used her hands. “Don’t let Jumo’s life be given in vain, Lazar. From what I can gather, he was chasing down this food so we could all eat well this night. Honor him: eat.”

WHERE HEREZAH’S WORDS HADlifted his spirits somewhat, Ana’s words injured him. The Zaradine’s easy tenderness, her ability to touch deeply on all that troubled him, seemed to rub salt into the wound that was Jumo’s death. He wanted to reach out and bury his head in her hair, hold her close.

He despised that she belonged to the Zar.

He reached for the plate instead. “I will eat, Zaradine, for Jumo’s sake, and in his memory, if you will, too.”

It was the capitulation he knew they had been hoping for. Both women instantly moved to sit beside him.

Lazar had to admire Herezah for risking rebuke as she laid her cool fingers lightly on his bare arm.

“Thank you,” she said, then removed her hand swiftly.

Lazar had not flinched away from Herezah’s touch—it was his quiet acknowledgment to the Valide that he understood and admired the courage it must have taken for her to lay out her emotions in such bareness, to him of all people. However, as she spoke more brightly, looking out into the distance rather than at him, to cover the fleeting awkwardness, Lazar took the plate from Ana and he deliberately allowing his hand to brush hers. In that moment he felt the connection, saw it in her eyes, sensed it in the soft caress she returned to his palm.

Later that night he mourned Jumo deeply, and that only intensified his sorrows over Ana, over the touch that told him she was his, had always been. The hurt over his two favorite people blended and his grief that he could never be with either again intensified his sadness. He grieved again at the thought that they could never be together. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, to clear them. He must accept that Jumo was gone from his life and he must lay his desires for Ana to rest once and for all. Love equaled pain, and he had no more room in his heart for it. Loneliness could never get worse, a solitary life was quantifiable and once accepted, became routine, manageable, and even comfortable…familiar as a comfy old chair or a favorite shirt.

As everyone was settling down to sleep, he drifted away from the main group, unnoticed, and in the cover of darkness moved stealthily from the camp. He needed to walk, to feel the cold of the desert night, to let it chill him and cool the flames of desire that Ana’s simple touch had fanned.

It occurred to him in the dark that he was in danger of walking straight into quicksand as Jumo had, and that made him slow his urgent stride and make for a dune rather than the flat earth. The sand slipped beneath his feet, still warm in its depths, but he pushed on until he crested the dune, and there he lay, hands cushioning his head as he stared up at the bright crescent moon that had just emerged from a shadowy cloud. From an early age he had sought the moon for solace, but now it mocked him.Still alone, Lazar? it asked.No parents, no friends, no lover? He lost himself in sad thoughts of a life that felt unfulfilled, even though as few as fifteen moons ago he might have believed his life full and happy. Fifteen Page 271

moons ago he had not met Ana and he had had a companion called Jumo. Fifteen moons ago nobody knew his identity and voices did not speak to him in his mind.

He did not hear the soft scramble of someone climbing the dune, but he did recognize the figure when it reached his eye level. He sat up, alarmed.

“What’s wrong? What areyou doing here?”

“I had to speak with you…alone.”

“How…” He was lost for words.

“No one knows I’m gone. I told Pez—I think he understood. He’s not happy, of course, but he will warn me should the need arise.”

“Ana, I—”

“May I sit beside you?”

He nodded, then thought better of it. “Perhaps we had better sit on the other side,” he suggested.

He knew she smiled behind her veil. “Yes, we are illuminated here on the top of the dune, aren’t we?” Lazar did not return the smile. Instead a tension, emanating from him like a tautly strung bow, stretched to the one person he’d least expected to find himself alone with. His throat felt too dry to talk and he cleared it nervously. “How do you feel?”

“Happy now that I’m here.”

“Yes, the desert can offer comfort. The harem has been very cruel to you.”

“I’m not referring to the harem,” she said, releasing the veil and pulling away her head cover so that her golden hair could feel the touch of the night’s soft, chill breeze. Some of the silken strands blew away from her face and he could see her profile in all of its ethereal beauty beneath the moonlight. “I mean here…with you.”

He had to look away from temptation. “It’s too dangerous, Ana. I cannot risk you—”

“What can they do? Tell me off? Tell Boaz? Kill me?” She laughed softly without humor. “They’ve tried it all before and I fear none of it. I am their only hope apparently and I do this for one reason alone. You should know now that I care nothing for Percheron, I care nothing for my own life, I really don’t care if war comes, save for the anxiety I have for my father, brother, and sisters. I was meant to be dead by now, and in truth, death suited my needs, for it would have brought closure to a life filled only by misery.” He remained silent, guarded, wishing he could turn back time, wishing he had never visited that hut in the foothills. He was the reason for her misery.

She continued softly now, none of the passion gone from her voice but the fire of her words settled to a more gentle glow. Her eyes were not turned toward his but out into the darkness where shadows of dunes hunched like ancient creatures. “My only reason for not objecting to this marriage and this journey was that it meant I could see you, share your life for just a little longer. We have never spoken truthfully, Page 272

you and I. It is time we did, before it is too late and our mission is done and I am either dead in Galinsea or returned to a living death in the harem. I am sure that we will not be allowed to see each other again once this is done with.”

He tried to sound unfazed, even though he was intimidated by her forthrightness and unsure of how to respond. “I don’t see why not. They have no reason to forbid—”

“They have every reason. Herezah would no more trust me alone with you than she would herself. And Boaz kno—”

The mention of the Valide made him bristle. “I admired the Valide’s candor earlier this evening but that’s where my admiration ends. Let me assure you that I can trust myself alone with her, Ana. Whatever she might try, nothing would come of it,” he said sourly.

“She would find a way, Lazar. She always finds a way. She admitted as much this evening. And I know this from bitter experience.”

He remained silent.

She qualified her earlier statement. “She would seek out some way to compromise you.”

“Herezah has nothing that can surprise me.”

“No? I imagine her next move will be to alert you to the fact that I might be carrying her grandchild?” Shocked, Lazar was unable to form any words for several long moments. Finally she turned her gaze from the distance to focus fully on him, and even in the dark he could see the sparkle of her eyes. She waited for him to speak.

It all fell into place for him now. “That’s why you’ve been feeling so sick. Is it true?” She shrugged. “I do not know, yet,” she replied carefully, “but I hear them whispering. She and Tariq have already convinced themselves that I am pregnant with the next heir. They have almost convinced me.”

Lazar felt dizzy with dismay. So many thoughts swirled around his mind, mainly selfish, angry ones, directed at Boaz for having tasted the pleasure of Ana’s body. But he fought those back into the recesses of his already scarred heart, where he could lock them deeply away, and focused instead on the practical worries. “We should not have you and the child endangered in the desert,” he blustered.

“Everyone seems quite happy to endanger me. My child, if there is one, is hardly a problem and should not change anything. The baby is safe as long as I am, whether I am in the desert or imprisoned in the harem. The only suffering is borne by me and there is no impact on anyone else, least of all the child. I am the tired one, the one who is constantly feeling sick. If we broker this peace, then it matters not whether I am with child or without. The baby would be killed anyway if war came to Percheron—don’t try and tell me otherwise.” She glared at him.

“No, you’re right,” he admitted. “You and the baby would be two of the first dealt with. No heir to Percheron would be permitted to survive.”

“Then he’s in danger whether I’m here in the desert or cocooned in my prison at the palace.” Page 273

“He?”

She hugged her knees to her chest. “Herezah thinks of her grandchild as a he.”

“When will you know if you are pregnant?”

She shrugged. “My bleeds are unreliable at best. Another moon perhaps.”

“How did you get past Herezah anyway?”

“Pez. He gave her a sleeping draft.”

Lazar gave a very halfhearted tweak of a smile. “Crafty.” Then he sighed, wishing he wasn’t being tested like this with Ana so close and the unique opportunity of being alone. Again he chose safe ground. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“I wanted to share my sorrow for the loss of Jumo, but not with an audience, and one that in all truth doesn’t really care. He was always so kind to me. I loved Jumo.”

“That makes two of us,” he said miserably. “It was a terrible way to die.”

“Is there a good way?” she asked, echoing his gloom.

“In battle perhaps, or whilst one sleeps. I would take either.” She smiled sadly. “I also wanted to have this chance to talk about us.” He felt the catch in his throat again, swallowed back the fear that she was moving them onto less secure ground. This was how Jumo must have felt, panicking, sinking further into the mire. He grappled for a hold on something solid, something real, something irrefutable. “There is no us, Ana,” he said, his voice betraying how hard it was for him to remain this distant, this controlled. “You are the Zaradine, now potentially the carrier of the heir to the throne of Percheron. I am your servant. There is no us. There never was.”

“You’re not very good at lying, are you, Lazar? You’re far better at the gruff, angry truth.”

“I do not lie.”

“Then why did you touch me so surreptitiously this evening, if not to steal a part of me for yourself? Why did you touch me fifteen moons ago when I was first being presented to the Valide, if not to hold on to me for just a little longer? Did you think I didn’t feel that fleeting kiss of our skins through the sheath I was forced to wear? Did you think that because I was so young I didn’t have blood pounding through my veins or the desires of any young woman?”

“I…I…”

Lazar could tell she was not going to let him off the hook now that she had him squirming at the end of her line. “Why did you come in search of me when I escaped? Was it all about duty or was it about getting to me first, seeing me again? You could have led me from the temple—I was capable of walking—and yet you carried me. Was that sheer generosity of spirit or did you want to feel me against Page 274

your body?” He hung his head and still she persisted. “At least Boaz declares his love, you just sneak around it. You prolonged our time together in the market on the first evening we came into Percheron and on the morning of my discovery. You fought for my freedom during the Choosing Ceremony, and later, after I’d not only relinquished it but brought the full might of the harem’s censure upon me, you fought for me again, this time with your own life. You took my punishment. You died for me, or so I was told. You think you hide your feelings but you are transparent to me, Lazar. You always have been, even though you act in a way to confuse me.”

“I betrayed you.” He was desperately grasping at straws, hoping to incite her rage, to turn her from him, but especially to prevent her from speaking more truth, and showing him so clearly for the duplicitous person he was.

She touched his long hair, a tear escaping down her cheek as he closed his eyes for fear that he might just reach for her and never be able to let go. “I know now that the betrayal you speak of was not of your own making. Zafira and Ellyana created the deception, not you. I can see how sick you’ve been.

Sick enough to no longer have the strength to dye your hair and stop running from the person you are. A Galinsean Prince.” She shook her head, seemingly still unable to fully digest the truth. “This hair color suits you more.”

“This is dangerous. We can’t…” He stammered, unable to finish his sentence for the rush of longing that engulfed him, rendering him helpless beneath her fingers as they moved to caress his soft beard.

“We might never have another chance,” she said, shocking him further with her reckless, suddenly mature approach. He tried to tell himself that she was shy, reluctant, that the loneliness of her life and despair over Jumo’s death had provoked her into seeking him out—the one person who might understand and share her grief. He told himself he must not take advantage of her in this state. But the truth was that he knew Ana had always been precocious and wise beyond her years. And she was not shy, far from it. She had registered his desire from the first moment they had met and although she might not have fueled it, she had certainly accepted and welcomed it in her quiet, guarded way.

“When you were flogged for me, do you know you told me you loved me?” she breathed near his ear, sending fresh currents of fear and lust racing through him.

“I was dying,” he groaned in a last ditch attempt at denial.

“No, you were honest. It was the one occasion I have seen your emotions bared, your expression so free of disguise. You knew you were as good as dead, that it didn’t matter anymore. And you released the truth of what was in your mind.”

He tried once more. “I don’t remember.”

She pulled his chin around, forcing him to face her. “I remember it clearly. I clung to it for all these moons as my touchstone. I kept my veil, spattered with your blood, as a way of keeping you alive for me. Before you succumbed, I told you I loved you back, Lazar. And unlike you, I never lie to those I love.” She leaned close and touched her soft lips to his.

Lazar, Spur of Percheron, mustered all the courage he had left inside and pushed her back. It took all of his willpower, for he wanted her so badly he knew he could not fend her off again. “Please, don’t do this,” he beseeched. It was more of a warning.

Ana shook her head sadly. “It is done,” she whispered, and this time when she leaned toward him, he Page 275

did not resist. He had nothing left with which to ward her off, no more weapons with which to fight her, no more armor with which to shield himself.

And so he yielded.

He pulled her close and returned her kiss with such passion that starry explosions winked and blinked behind his closed eyelids, his hands cupping her face in an effort to own her. And then, as the moon once again slipped behind the clouds, Lazar surrendered wholly to her warmth, which banished the cold whipping at their bared bodies, and to her brightness, which burned like a golden fire within him. He knew no other thought but Ana for what felt an eternity; he familiarized himself with every inch of her young, velvetlike skin. As he kissed the curve of her waist he mumbled, “This bit belongs to me,” making her laugh throatily, and with surprise. He had not heard Ana laugh like that before and would never know that neither had she. It was the sound of sunshine and calm seas, of blue skies and heavy-scented blossom; it was happiness, fulfillment, satisfaction, all in one. He told her this and she accused him of sounding like one of Pez’s nonsense rhymes. And as, finally, their lovemaking subsided into a languorous, sensuous quiet that wrapped itself around their entangled limbs, she stroked his damaged back and he lulled her off to sleep humming a Galinsean lullaby.

Lazar, however, did not sleep. He wrapped her nakedness with his robe and silently begged the night’s frost to kill him, for if he could not have this moment again, he would sooner die. His melodramatic thoughts eased as time passed slowly and he chose instead to memorize the curves and planes of her face, so childlike in repose. She breathed softly, a wisp of her hair rising and falling with those breaths, and he gently touched her belly in aching jealousy, wondering whether it did indeed carry the heir to the Percheron throne.

She stirred at his touch, stretched slowly, sensually, and smiled at him. “How long have I slept?”

“Long enough here,” he murmured reluctantly. “You must go back to the royal tent.” She began to object but he placed his finger over her mouth. “We have put Pez at risk enough.” She nodded and sat up. “I hadn’t thought that I’d put him in danger. You’re right, Tariq sleeps lightly.”

“And Mal—er, Tariq, he—”

“You wanted to say Maliz, am I right? Do you believe this tale that I am Lyana?” He shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe, Ana. Pez believes it.”

“Earnestly,” she said sadly. “But I think he’s going to be disappointed.” Lazar nodded. “So do I. If you were who he thinks you are, the demon would have already made his move.”

She looked startled by his directness. “The Grand Vizier kill me?” She shook her head. “And how do you know that Tariq is Maliz anyway?”

“Ah, well, I think in this respect Pez has some argument. I have known Tariq for more than a decade.

This is not the Tariq of fifteen moons ago. This is entirely a different man, who looks the same and has the same tone of voice but doesn’t use the same words or even mannerisms that Tariq did.” Page 276

“So you believe in Maliz? In his existence, I mean?”

He nodded. “Yes, and as firmly as I believe in Iridor’s existence—and I have seen Pez as himself and as the owl. The magic is real.”

She frowned. “Maliz did touch me.”

“Which is why I don’t believe you are Lyana. Poor Pez.”

“He keeps telling me that you are involved, too.”

He grimaced. “I don’t see how. I think once he discovers the real Lyana, he’ll forget about us.”

“Who can she be?”

“If she exists at all,” he warned.

“Ellyana is real. She obviously believes Lyana rises.”

“Yes, none of it makes sense,” he admitted. He sighed as he unfurled his arm from around her. “Time will tell.”

“Lazar.”

“Yes?” he replied, distracted by pulling her robe over her shoulders, keen to get them both dressed and out of danger of discovery.

“I have loved you since you came down that incline to our hut and laid claim to me.”

“Ana. You are so young, you have—”

“Don’t. Tell me the truth. There are no witnesses, just us.” He stood, robed himself, and then pulled her to her feet, taking the long pause as some precious time to formulate the words he had wanted to say to her since that same moment when his very breathing had been arrested at the sight of her. He also remembered Jumo’s dying words—owed it to his beloved friend to honor that request.

“I have known what I thought was love only once before. It brought me nothing but grief. But what I feel for you I now realize is true love because it never stops hurting. It hurt to first meet you, first fall in love with you. It hurt so much more to love you from a distance, but now that I have loved you physically, I know the pain will never soften and blur as it did with Shara.” He kissed her hand. “But if this is all we can have, then I accept and take the pain and I thank all the gods of the world for giving me this time with you. Yes, I love you, Ana. I always have and I will continue to do so from a distance until I take my last breath. You never need to doubt me.”

He allowed her to throw herself once again into his arms and they remained in that embrace, fighting back their tears, for several minutes before he disentangled himself. “What we have had, no one will ever take from us. I wish I’d had more courage to resist you so that neither of us need feel such loss, but I will never regret these hours and I thank you for giving me such a gift.” Page 277

Before she could speak again, he pushed her toward the camp. “Now go, I beg you. Return as silently as you came.”

“And you?”

“Soon, I promise.”

He watched her retreat down the dune, waited until he lost her in the darkness before he turned his back on her and wept. He had lied to her. He was not grateful; the fleeting gift of herself was a curse and it would haunt him forever with an unrelenting taunt of what he had once tasted but would never taste again.

As his tears dried, he became aware of another presence, a presence in his mind. The voices were back, calling strongly to him now. He heard them more clearly at this moment than he had ever heard them previously. Until now they had sounded distant, unintelligible, as if muffled. Now, as Ana left him, they rumbled clearly in his mind.

Release us, Lazar,they called to him.

In his ire, in his frustrated understanding that Ana had given herself to him once and once only, in his fury at losing Jumo in such helpless circumstances, he lashed out:Tell me who you are or leave me alone!

He hadn’t expected a response, and when it came he wished he had never posed the angry question.

I am Beloch.

I am Ezram.

I am Crendel.

I am Darso.

I am…the list continued, all names of the mythical creatures of the Stone City of Percheron that he had always admired.

MALIZ STIRRED.HE HAD never been a deep sleeper, but these hot days and cool desert nights, as well as all the fresh air and constant activity, were combining to ensure he slept far more soundly than he could ever remember. Still, something had disturbed him, and as he lay in his small, suffocating tent, he considered what could have woken him. There were no sounds outside, save the gentle spit and crackle of the fire. It would be out by morning and no doubt Lazar would be sending people all over to scour for anything combustible. He had already warned that they might have to live from then on without warmth at night or any heated food. The Spur had urged the Elim to cook up stocks of flatbread in case the lack of fire material became reality. Maliz shook his head clear of the mundane—he was really beginning to think like a man, he berated himself—and focused on what had disrupted his sleep. He had been enjoying these cool desert nights of slumber but had also learned long ago to trust his instincts. If there had been no sharp noise to awaken him, what had shaken him from pleasant dreams? And now that he thought about it, he had not come to from his unconscious state gradually. He had been woken abruptly. He had simply opened his eyes in shock as if reacting to a loud noise or a nudge.

He knew it was useless trying to probe. Imprisoned so completely within Tariq, he had almost none of Page 278

his magics to call upon. He almost wished he could inhabit some old wretch again, one of those temporary, disposable hosts he used in his dormancy—simply to have the freedom to range outside of his body, just once even. How frustrating that he had committed to the Grand Vizier and so had to rely on wit and cunning…and touch, until Lyana herself had risen and provided his power.

And that’s where this thought dwelled. Lyana. Had something occurred with her that had somehow fractured the status quo of the present spiritual world? She could not have risen or he would have instantly felt his magic quicken within him. And yet something niggled, something he couldn’t latch on to, as if it hovered at the periphery of his vision. He sat up, shaking himself fully from the dozy sense of comfort beneath his blanket, and tried to pay attention to what was ranging through his mind.

Lyana.He tracked back through past centuries. Her rising had always triggered the same response—a violent one—an arrival of his magic that made him suck in air as though gasping for his last breath or as if someone had punched him hard in the belly. But Lyana’s rising had not woken him or he would be feeling the effects and the orgasmic sensation of his powers coming fully to him. And yet this disturbance had the hallmarks of Lyana. It was abrupt, it had not announced itself, and now it remained hidden. He desperately wanted to believe it signaled her rising but he remained impotent, so it couldn’t be.

Now he did hear a soft footfall outside. Quickly he pulled back his tent flap, all of his frustration poured into the action.

Ana jumped. “Oh, you scared me, Grand Vizier.”

He frowned. “What are you doing, Zaradine?”

“Relieving myself,” she said airily, her expression suggesting it was none of his business. “I had hoped not to disturb anyone. I’m sorry I woke you.”

He considered. “Did you make a noise?”

She frowned in thought.

Maliz carefully modulated his tone, made his voice friendly. “It’s just that something did wake me, and I was just trying to work out what it was.”

She gave a sheepish shrug, all but her eyes hidden behind her veil. “Forgive me, I did trip over your tent rope on my way to that dune.” She pointed to the near distance. “I’m so sorry.” He waved his hand toward her. “It is nothing to forgive.” He yawned. “I was just enjoying a nice dream, I think, and was sad to be pulled from it.”

She giggled softly. “Can you remember your dreams? I rarely can.”

“I remember everything, Zaradine. In this one I was a god, with immense power, and I had just persuaded a horde of beautiful nymphs to visit my mountain palace in the sky.” In the dying glow of the fire, he noticed her eyes widen slightly at his words. Possibly she was shocked by the image he described, or was it the mention that he was a god? He noticed the hesitation before the smooth answer. “And now you tease me, Grand Vizier.”

He smiled indulgently and for good measure touched her arm. Nothing, as before! This girl was definitely Page 279

not Lyana. “I do. Actually, I was an old man, chasing after a rather lovely young creature who was understandably running from me with all her might.”

He saw her eyes reflect soft amusement now. “I think you’re far more charming and attractive than you give yourself credit for Grand Vizier. There are plenty of women, I’m sure, who find you irresistible.” But only one interests me, my young Ana,he thought.And you are not her …but you will interest me when I become Boaz. “Oh, I do hope so, Zaradine, and once this mission is done with and we are returned to Percheron, I might try to find them.”

She nodded her approval and then disappeared silently into her own tent.

Maliz had to wonder whether his instincts had sent him a ruse. And whether in chasing off after Pez, he had actually left behind the real trail in Percheron, where Iridor existed and could lead him to the hated Goddess. He grimaced. Lyana was cunning this time. But he would find her and he would take his time killing her. His mind moved again to Ana. No. Not her. But if not Ana, who?

NOT FAR AWAY,YET distant enough not to disturb the sleepers, Pez was retching violently but with no idea why. His grief over Jumo aside, he had not partaken of any of the meat. The nausea had suddenly come upon him—no warning, just a violent surge through his body before a darkening of the sand where he stood.

What was it? What could have disturbed his body so? His head throbbed and he sat down to lean against the dune.

“Pez,” a voice whispered.

He leaped up, startled but still dizzy from his exertions. “Ellyana,” he murmured, “don’t creep up on me like that.”

“I cannot use magic to reach you or he will sense it. He is very alert just now.” Pez knew to whom she referred. But didn’t know how she would know the demon’s state of mind. He stole a glance around the dune to check that Ellyana could not be seen from the campsite. “I am unwell.”

“I can see that,” she said softly. “It is not what you think.” She could see his heavy brow frowning in the moonlight. “You are not ill. It’s because you are Iridor.”

“I don’t understand,” he groaned quietly.

“You will. I am here to tell you that our previous agreement regarding Ana is no longer necessary.” He ignored his aching head to stare at Ellyana, not that he could make out her features in the darkness.

“Why?”

“Just do as I say, Pez.” She turned to leave.

“Wait,” he growled in a low voice. “Is she Lyana?”

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He thought he might have caught a ghost of a smile across her face but there simply wasn’t enough light with the moon intermittently shrouded by clouds. “Have patience, Pez. All will be revealed.”

“Why won’t you tell me?” Pez persisted.

“For your protection,” she murmured, angry now. “Just let Ana be. Iridor knows. Search yourself, and you will find the answers you hunt.”

Pez looked to the sands, and shook his head with repressed frustration. When he looked back up, Ellyana had disappeared. So had his headache. He felt suddenly fine—the smothering pain had gone as fast as it had come, and the nausea was nothing more than a memory. He glanced over and noticed the dark patch of sand. He hadn’t imagined it; he had been sick.

None of it felt natural, and Ellyana’s curious arrival, timed perfectly to coincide with his disturbance, told him his nausea and headache were somehow linked to the Goddess. Something had happened…but what?

32

It had been two days since he had lost Jumo, and although leaving the region of the quicksand and his death had helped to clear the morbid atmosphere that had pervaded everyone’s waking thoughts, it had done nothing to improve Lazar’s grim countenance. If anything, the latter had seemed to worsen into a dulled, impervious expression. Pez knew everyone assumed it was grief. But he suspected it was terror at Lazar’s dark thoughts of longing for the Zar’s wife.

Lazar, in his withdrawn state, hadn’t realized that Ana had begun vomiting most of the meager bread and fruit she tried to eat in her bid to keep her side of their agreement, or that Salim was becoming decidedly nervous as they entered a part of the desert known simply to the tribes as the Empty. It took Pez and a hissing, angry exchange on this second night after Jumo’s death to finally get Lazar to take notice of anything more than his camel or the horizon.

Pez found Lazar in the black of night sitting alone on the top of a dune well away from the campfires.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, anticipating hostility. They had not spoken directly to each other since Lazar had banished him from his side after Jumo’s death.

He received precisely the animosity he expected. “I have nothing to talk about,” Lazar replied coldly.

“Do you mean in general or with me specifically?” Pez asked, prepared to go along with the fight that was certainly due between them.

“Both.”

“Lazar, I think something’s happening that we don’t know about. Whether or not you want to talk to me, I’m the one who has to make you understsand. For all intents and purposes, you’re not aware of much at all just now.”

“Go away, Pez.”

“I will not.”

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“I don’t wish to discuss Iridor, Lyana, this battle, or Maliz. In fact I don’t wish to discuss anything. I want to be left alone.”

“This has nothing to do with any of that, Spur. This solely concerns your job for your Zar.”

“What is it?” Lazar said through gritted teeth.

“It’s Salim. He’s not saying much, but the language of his body and the tension he is creating amongst his own is saying plenty.”

“Such as?”

“I’m not sure, but we’re all feeling it. That’s why I’ve brought it to you. There’s an uneasiness.”

“I’ll need more than that to go on.”

Pez shrugged in the dark. “It’s hard to say. Salim seems overly watchful, nervous. He keeps looking this way and that. I swear he looked over his shoulder earlier today. It’s certainly giving me a sense of unrest and I know the others feel similarly, from eavesdropping on their conversations.”

“Have you spoken to the Khalid?”

“How can I? The Grand Vizier has nothing to focus his attention on at the moment except me, I feel.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Listen, Lazar, pay attention to what I’m saying. I think something dangerous is afoot.”

“Does your big nose twitch from the Lore and tell you this, or do you have any facts to give me?” Pez knew Lazar was being deliberately provocative, determined to goad him into the fight the Spur clearly wanted. He wouldn’t bite, not yet. “Salim senses trouble but he’s not telling us anything. You need to talk to him.”

“Why should I? Simply because you feel something in the air?”

“Lazar, it’s more than that.”

“Well, I don’t feel anything,” Lazar said dismissively, obviously hoping to end their conversation.

“That’s because you are in an Empty all of your own, Lazar,” Pez snapped, his temper no longer in check. “You arrogant fool. Prince or not, you are all Galinsean. Don’t ever say I didn’t try!” Lazar surged to his feet. “You dare talk to me like that!” he warned, turning now to stare angrily at the dwarf.

“I think I’m the only one who isn’t scared of you, or that look that I can’t see in the dark but I know is on your face. If you want to hit me, break my jaw again, do it. I can heal myself again if I have to.”

“You seem quite at ease with using the Lore on yourself, or for Ana.” Lazar sneered, dropping his voice low now.

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“Ah, so now we come to it. I understand what this is all about. This is not about Jumo. This is about me refusing you. Even after I helped Ana to have some time with you when I thought you both deserved it.” Whatever else he thought about that moonlit night he left unsaid.

Lazar sighed and in that sound Pez heard the gratitude the Spur clearly felt. “Go find another playmate, Pez,” he urged. “I don’t wish to talk about this.”

“No, but then you never do. You run away from anything and everything that pricks at your emotions or requires you to open yourself up to others. What have I done, Lazar?”

“It’s what you haven’t done,” Lazar replied, almost a whisper, deep sorrow in his voice.

Pez knew his recent lies would follow him for the rest of his life. He was glad Lazar could not see his face or the despondent expression written on it. “I explained to you already, I needed to touch him. How was I supposed to do that without perishing myself?”

“Well, even in my panic at that moment I could imagine you turning yourself into the owl and hovering over Jumo’s head if you had to. You could have touched him easily that way.” Pez had not thought of that, curiously enough, and now, feeling even more hollow—if that was possible—he grasped at a fresh deception. “I…I cannot use the Lore when I am Iridor.”

“I think you’re lying, Pez.”

“I am not—”

“I’ll tell you why I think you’re lying and why you chose not to save the life of someone utterly loyal to Percheron, and very close to me. No one should die like that, swallowed by the earth, slowly drowning in a dark mass in front of an audience that couldn’t…or in this instance, wouldn’t help.” Pez felt his belly clench, praying inwardly that Lazar had not seen through him. “Listen to me, I could not use the Lore—”

Lazar continued as though Pez had not spoken. His voice was calm but edged with ice now. No one could hear or see them. “I think you lied to me and to Jumo and you continue to lie to me and even yourself because you chose a dream over reality. What do we really know of Lyana? And yet for her you allowed one of the best men to have ever walked at your side to die an agonizing death of suffocation. Jumo showed more courage in death than you have ever shown in life, Pez.” Reluctant, angry tears were rolling down his face as he pointed at the dwarf who could not see the tears but could make out his accusing finger. “In your stifling fear of Maliz, you killed my closest friend.” Pez’s expression turned from dismay to despair, his large head moving from side to side in denial. “You might as well have, Pez. You could have saved him but you chose not to, and I only worked out why on the way back to camp. You couldn’t risk Maliz sensing your magic, could you? Jumo died to keep you safe from the demon.” Lazar’s reasoning was right; he had hit on the truth but the accusation was unfair and Pez hoped he knew that, too. But Lazar didn’t care, obviously. He clearly wanted someone else to suffer this pain of loss alongside him. Pez understood that most of the others were carrying on as though Jumo were already something of the past, a distant memory soon to be forgotten, and of no real importance.

He watched Lazar bend over and retch, giving back to the desert the small amount of meat that had been stolen from it a few days previous. And as he did so he heard Lazar swear that he would never eat Page 283

any bird again. He would join Ana in her idiosyncrasy of not eating a creature that flies. His reason was different, of course, Pez realized—Lazar’s best friend had died chasing down the meat of the sky.

Pez was breathless from the pain of Lazar’s words. They stung because for the most part they were true, but he refuted the accusation that he actually killed Jumo; he just hadn’t felt in a position to save him.

It was too dangerous for him, for Ana, for Lazar even…for all of them who were connected with the rising of Iridor and the ultimate battle ahead. None understood how their very lives hung on a fragile thread of secrecy. He could almost hate Lazar in this moment for making him feel so responsible for Jumo’s demise.

He had to force himself to take a deep, steadying breath. “Yes, there may be some truth in what you say, Lazar. But I didn’t withhold my magic to save myself. In this you are unjust, for my life as Iridor is forfeit. I made that most difficult choice without much more than a second in order to save your life and especially Ana’s. Over the centuries Maliz has chosen a variety of ways to destroy Lyana once he’s had her at his mercy. I thank my Goddess that I have never had to witness it but I have learned about it all the same. He once physically tore her limb from limb, until she lay scattered in pieces; another time he disemboweled her but kept her alive for an hour or more—and I can’t tell you what a slow, agonizing death that was for her. Jumo’s, if you’ll forgive me, was swift by comparison.”

“Stop.”

“Then there was the time he ate her. Roasted her alive over hot coals and carved her up to consume at his leisure. She took a long time to die that day, too, as I understand. My personal favorite, though, was learning how he slowly bled her to death. Each day he would drain some more. It took her many days of suffering, witnessing her own demise as he drank the blood he drained from her.”

“I said stop,” Lazar commanded.

“Another time—I think it’s the occasion Maliz enjoyed the most—he raped her over and over. And when he was spent, he forced other helpless individuals to line up and rape her until she died. Again she suffered with courage—it took her a day and half of endless rutting, her arms and legs pinned out by stakes in the ground, to capitulate.”

“Stop, I said!” Lazar roared, knowing his shout could be heard for miles. Pez, against his own desires, but for the sake of appearances, began to do a jig, hoping that the audience from afar would assume his endless chatter and movement had so infuriated Lazar in his despair that he had reacted with anger.

“Please, I beg you,” Lazar whispered.

“You need to understand what we are dealing with here. He takes pleasure in injury, pain, suffering. He never lets her die easily—he prolongs her agony, enjoys her slow death. He will do this to Ana, and I know him so well, I believe he will keep you alive and make you watch. You see, I think our Grand Vizier has worked out your weakness, Lazar, and whether or not you believe that Ana is Lyana, is irrelevant—just as a simple woman she makes you vulnerable. He has seen this and he will make you pay the price for that helplessness. He will dream up something even more spectacular knowing he has an audience and you will share her every groan, her every plea to die, and he will do this to you purely for his own amusement. This is why I had to choose. There was no surety that I could have saved Jumo but there was a guarantee that I would not reveal myself and thus endanger Ana and yourself. Believe me, I have not lived easily with myself these past two days and nights. If it had only been my life to jeopardize, Lazar, I would have risked it gladly for Jumo, but there were too many lives at stake. The price was too high.”

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“Would the Lore have saved him?” Lazar demanded.

Pez shook his head with a sense of hopelessness. “I cannot say. I could have tried, that’s all, and perhaps we would have won, but Maliz would have worked it out. Apart from sensing the magic, not just he but others would have had to wonder how we kept Jumo aloft long enough in the quicksand for the camels. There was too much risk.”

Lazar hung his head. “We cannot bring him back.”

“We cannot. I made a decision for the greater good. I stand by it. I’m sorry if you deem it wrong, but Ana is safe for the time being and soon I will prove to you why we have suffered this loss, why her life is so important to us.”

“If she continues to survive.”

“She will survive, I promise.” The certainty in the dwarf ’s voice made Lazar turn toward him sharply.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Instinct,” Pez said, too quickly, and Lazar heard the catch in this throat, as if Pez had realized he was wrong to have shared his thoughts openly. They had argued enough, though; there was no point in opening a fresh wound. “Will you forgive me?”

“We cannot bring him back,” Lazar repeated.

“That is not an answer to my question. We have been great friends over the years. We trust each other.

I don’t want to lose that.”

Lazar stared out toward the moon, which was shrouded by clouds this night and shivered against the chill. “Prove me wrong, Pez. That’s all I ask of you. I doubt Lyana, I doubt Iridor…prove me wrong and let my friend’s death count for something.”

Pez nodded. “I will do that, my friend—may I still call you that?”

“Of course, Pez, I—” Lazar’s sentence was cut off as he was knocked sideways by a powerful shove.

HE FELT PRESSURE ATthe top of his arm, and in the darkness of night he couldn’t see much, but when he clutched at where he felt the sensation, he was aware of pain and of a sticky wetness on his palm, and impossible, though it seemed, an arrow sticking out of his arm.

“Pez,” he began, incredulous, now wavering on his knees.

“I am gone to fetch your sword,” the dwarf said. “Get that arrow from you. We are under attack.” Lazar ignored the pain, growled as he broke the arrow as far down the shaft as he could, and got himself quickly to his knees to scan the surrounding dunes.I can’t see anything, he thought anxiously, praying that Pez would change into Iridor and make a reconnaissance flight to locate the enemy with his sharp owl night sight.

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He waited for what felt an interminable length of time, his frustration increasing with each passing second.

Finally he heard scrabbling nearby and tensed, prepared to throw himself down the dune. Without a weapon he was useless to his group and completely vulnerable.

“It’s me,” sounded a familiar voice. Pez crawled up on his belly, two swords somehow in tow. “Don’t ask me how I did that.”

Lazar took the swords and automatically weighted both, swinging them in the air. “Tell me.”

“A small army, you could say. There is no indication who they are or why they’ve attacked us. The Elim are making a good fight of it, but they are dying. There is no rallying point—they need you. It’s each man for himself, though all are fighting to keep the royal tent unbreached.”

“Salim?”

“The Khalid have fled, I think, although they could be dead. I didn’t have time to check.”

“Stay out of sight. You’re no use to us in the fray and I’d rather you kept alive.”

“I’ll watch and keep you briefed.”

“Don’t risk too much?”

“This time I can save many lives with my magic—I am obliged to take the risk because you and Ana are involved. I hope Maliz is too occupied to be sensing Iridor.”

“Thank you,” Lazar said, and although it hadn’t been mentioned, Pez knew that was thanks for the time with Ana. As he watched the Spur run nimbly and silently down the dune, he felt a momentary guilt that he hadn’t asked after Lazar’s arm, but then Lazar didn’t seem to care much anyway that blood was flowing down to his wrist; thank goodness the arrowhead was still buried, preventing the open wound from spouting too much blood at this stage. He also needed to think about how Lazar was suddenly talking to him through a mind link. This was new and assured him that Lazar was involved in Lyana’s struggle. Pez cast a silent prayer to Lyana to protect Ana and Lazar and then he changed into Iridor to try to scout for a particular member of the Elim, one he hoped would not lose his life here this night.

LAZAR HIT THE BOTTOMof the dune at a full run and with such force that his sheer momentum, together with wheeling swords, killed five men before they even realized they were being attacked. He was shocked at how many men were in their camp and he had no idea who was foe or friend in the dark; he had to hope anyone from their own group would scream quickly or somehow recognize him before he dealt a killing blow.

After a momentary pause to take in the stupefying scene—many of the Elim were already dead, only a few were courageously fighting on, holding the royal tent secure—he settled himself in to the serious business of maiming. Lazar had never been a fan of slaughter. He held true to his creed that the single most important task in any battle is not to kill but to disable your enemies so that they can no longer kill you. He was only one man but he had the twin benefits of surprise and coming from the rear, which he used to best advantage now as he set about his subtle art of slashing through Achilles tendons, hacking off sword arms, chopping at knees or hands. Fighting with two swords was his specialty—it was a Galinsean skill, and he had been one of his nation’s leading talents. Since he was old enough to support Page 286

his own weight, his father had thrust a practice sword into each hand, and so Lucien had learned from a tender age to wield a sword equally well with either hand. As he grew older he understood and mastered the art of separating himself mentally into two fighting sides, each working independently of the other. It was no mean skill.

If any had been capable of taking time away from his own fight to watch him now, he would have been awed as Lazar dispatched twenty-five men, single-handedly, in what seemed merely moments. In fact someone was observing him. A man on a camel, shrouded in black, so like a shadow that if not for the beast, Lazar would not have seen him.

THE MAN IN BLACKrobes silently applauded. He’d never seen such a magnificent display of ferocity. Such single-mindedness, such devotion to the cause. This fighter was a man to admire.

A rough count told him thirty of his men now lay mortally wounded or incapacitated. He worried not for any of them. Their lives had been given years ago; this was the culmination of their faith, when they proved their devotion. On the warrior’s side, they were down to one brave Elim, holding off several of the watcher’s men, but he could not last, for there was a line of others ready to take any of his enemies’

place as soon as they fell.

Perhaps these two were worth saving.

“Shaba!” The command was heard and the fighters, all shrouded in dark robes, only their eyes visible, obeyed that instruction and immediately froze.

SALAZIN,BLEEDING FROM SEVERAL slashes, was breathing hard and looked to Lazar now for his lead. Lazar had barely broken a sweat but none of the intensity of his fighting rage had left him. He had eyes only for the leader on the camel. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The man responded in perfect Percherese. “I think I’m your savior.” Lazar ignored the facetious response. “Why have you attacked us?”

“Why not? You enter my land without permission, steal my fowl—although I understand a debt was paid, as is right, and—”

“Your land? This is desert!”

“My desert,” the stranger replied, unruffled. “The Empty belongs to me.”

“Where? What do you own in this wilderness,” Lazar asked, “that you are permitted to slaughter for it?”

“That is my business.”

“No warning, no messengers?”

“You should not be here. You entered the region of my fortress and you—” Page 287

“Fortress!” Lazar’s anger turned to cold rage. “For what have you killed these innocent travelers?” he yelled, incensed that only one of the Elim remained alive.

“Trespass,” the shrouded one replied. In the burning torch-light, Lazar looked lost for a response. “And the fact that I hate the Percherese,” the man added. “I’m hoping your Zar is behind that tent flap. It would give me great pleasure to kill him, especially as I understand he is childless.” Lazar felt his blood turn to ice. Over his dead body only would this murderer take what stood behind that tent flap. “I am Lazar, Spur of Percheron, I—”

“I know who you are. Bring out the royals,” the stranger commanded.

Salazin, the remaining Elim, raised his sword. It was useless. Lazar made a gesture to the mute that in any language meant:stay your hand. They were hopelessly outnumbered; he would have to risk that this madman had no interest in lesser royals. It was a big risk—these were men, after all, and the people about to be presented were women. Fair game.

Maliz, Herezah, and Ana were dragged out of the tent. Lazar looked to Herezah and shook his head slightly. He knew he could count on her to understand. More torches were lit so their enemies could see their captives more clearly.

“Ah, no young Zar. Who are these people?”

He addressed the royal party but Lazar answered. “Vizier Tariq is making a diplomatic journey to Galinsea. He brings with him his wife and daughter.” To her credit Herezah didn’t flinch, although Lazar knew what insult he had just given. He silently thanked her with his eyes for understanding and cooperating. She bowed her head, as did Ana.

“I don’t know much about you, Tariq, but for some reason I thought the Percherese Grand Vizier was unmarried and childless.”

Maliz bowed. “Sir, so did I.” Lazar felt his insides do a flip. So the coward finally emerges. “Until my beautiful Farim came to me.”

“Farim?” the stranger queried.

“My new wife.” Maliz gave a soft conspiratorial sigh. “I lay with this woman when I was a younger man.

I did not know that my seed had quickened her womb and she had given birth to our beautiful Ana here.

Farim came to me when Ana was turning fifteen and told me the truth. She needed help securing a good husband, a good life, for our daughter. She had never asked for my assistance before. I had forgotten about her entirely, in truth. But Farim is persuasive and far more handsome in these older years than the gangly young creature I recall having bedded. And Ana is a beauty; I could not resist her needs.”

“How do you know that she is your child? You took the word of a woman you had not known for so many years.”

Maliz shrugged. “Would you not if this pair were presented to you, sir? I am old, I am wealthy, I have nothing in my life. Farim and Ana have given me reason to wake up and bless my stars. Whether Ana is of my seed or not, it is irrelevant. These women are mine now.”

“Very admirable,” the man said, his head to one side. “Bring the girl closer.” Page 288

Lazar had silently reveled in the Grand Vizier’s supremely crafted lies but now his heart lurched as Ana moved to stand in front of the stranger. With no warning the man ripped away her veil.

“You need never cover yourself for any man,” he growled. “Choose it only if you do so for your own modesty or faith.” He pulled her farther aside, lifting a warning finger to Lazar and to the Vizier.

“Come, child.”

“Where do you take her?” Lazar demanded, fear coursing through him.

“I wish to speak privately with this girl who stares at me so defiantly.” Lazar could only watch helplessly as Ana was drawn away.

HE WITHDREW ANA TObehind his camel and then closer to some dunes before he spoke directly to her. “Any other Percherese woman would have screamed, or covered her face with her hands if I’d done that to them.”

“I am not any other Percherese woman, sir. I follow no man’s rules.” He removed his own face covering, but in the dark she could not make out his features. “If you follow no man, who do you follow?”

“Only my god, sir.”

“Zarab is not a worthy—”

“I spit on Zarab, sir,” she said for his hearing only, and she felt rather than saw the tension she provoked within him. “I follow Lyana alone. And if that curses me in your eyes, I am not afraid of you.” He brought his hands together in a gesture akin to prayer, rested his fingertips against his mouth as he considered her. “Lyana. Do you believe she will come again?”

“I believe she is rising, sir. She will be amongst us very shortly.” He gave a deep chuckle. “You intrigue me, Ana.”

“And what of the others…my parents, the Spur?” She carefully omitted Pez, for she had not seen him.

Hopefully he might raise some alarm, perhaps persuade the Khalid to rally and fight.

“They do not intrigue me.”

“You’re going to kill them?”

He cocked his head to one side again. “The Spur is an extraordinary fighter. He certainly has a keen interest in you.”

“What do you mean?” she stammered, caught off guard.

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It amused him. “I mean he has unwittingly revealed himself to me. Throughout the Grand Vizier’s monologue, the Spur’s eyes never left you.”

“That’s not true,” she whispered.

“How would you know? Your head was bowed. He briefly gave attention to your mother but his concern is for you alone. Does he love you, Ana?”

“I…I hardly know him,” she answered, flustered, frightened for Lazar.

“Well, because you mean something to that proud man, whose fighting prowess I can only admire, I shall give them a sporting chance. And I shall give him a choice.”

“What choice?”

“Heart over duty. Which do you think he’ll choose?”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“Let me give you a demonstration, then,” he whispered close to her ear. “I’m thinking the very proud and honorable Spur of Percheron will choose duty…very sad, because I think you would like otherwise.

Come, child, watch.”

ANA AND HER CAPTORreemerged, much to Lazar’s relief, but the pause that followed felt too sinister for him to trust this stranger, who had already killed on a whim. The metallic smell of blood clung like a death shroud about him, warning of more to come. The first streaks of dawn were slashing across the wide desert sky; though it was barely light, he could now finally pick out the ghostly eyes of their oppressor; the rest of his face was hidden behind his desert turban.

“Brothers, sisters, a decision has been reached. It is because of this beautiful creature who stands beside me that I have decided to spare your lives…” Herezah sighed in visible relief at his words, and Maliz’s shoulders relaxed. “…for the time being,” the stranger continued. “What happens next is entirely up to your Spur.”

Now all of them looked baffled. Lazar tensed and noticed Salazin firming his grip on his sword. The stranger was certainly not done with them.

“You have two fighters with you,” the man explained to Maliz and Herezah. “Both formidable, especially your Spur. He is surely worth ten of mine.” He rapidly spoke in his own tongue. They watched as a dozen of his warriors stood to attention and walked to stand in a line not far from the royal tents. Lazar didn’t need to be told what would happen next. He dropped his angry gaze to the ground, marshaling his strength, turning his fury into focus, readying himself for battle and the inevitable grief that he knew was coming.

The man said something else to his men, and as one, they responded in an affirmative-sounding cheer.

Returning his attention to the captives, the stranger explained, “On my signal, my men will hunt you down and kill you as they choose. What stands between each of you and death is this man over here”—he Page 290

pointed to Salazin—“and your Spur, who has a rather nasty decision to make.” He chuckled.

“Wait!” Maliz cried out. “This is barbaric.”

“Then we are brothers-in-arms, Vizier. I have never found that your precious Zars over the years, or the god you pray to, have shown any mercy.”

“To whom?” Maliz beseeched.

“I’m sure you’ll work it out, Vizier, when the hour is upon you. And it’s coming; that, I promise you.” Maliz began to jabber. “What are we expected to do, unarmed, without mounts?”

“Run, I think, would be my first suggestion. My second would be that you leave right now.” Lazar could tell he did not jest; there was no longer any amusement in his voice.

Maliz looked at Herezah and she in turn looked to Lazar. They both looked terrified. Salazin was the first to move, silently ushering the pair, pushing them into a trot. Herezah tripped on a tent rope, stumbling slightly, but Salazin grabbed her, kept her upright, pushed her forward. Maliz didn’t bother to wait for the Valide; he was already running as fast as his legs would allow. Lazar gritted his teeth, felt sure he would run through the cowardly Vizier with his blade if he got the chance. He looked back at the man who taunted them.

“Give me Ana,” he demanded.

“No, Spur. She is mine. As I said, I find her intriguing. You may rest assured that her life alone is safe, although you now have the power to secure the Vizier’s…and the Valide’s.” At Lazar’s start, he chuckled again. “Did you think I would fall for those lies? They were nicely done, too, and if not for my reliable information, I might have believed them. But no, I know who that man is and I know that his companion is the Zar’s mother and I know that beside me stands his new Zaradine and Absolute Favorite. I also know that you and she have a…special understanding, shall we say.”

“I’m warning you, whoever you are. Do not lay a finger on Ana.” The stranger laughed. “You are not in a position to threaten me, Lazar. I still have twenty men ready to cut you down, and as good as you are with both of those blades, you will not catch me. But you can try.

I know you want to.” He shouted a command and Lazar looked in horror as the men who were lined up yelled some sort of war cry and began their pursuit of the desperately retreating trio.

“Here is my camel, saddled and ready,” the man offered. “Take it, and hunt my men down as they hunt your people. You have a duty, Spur, to your Zar. His wife is safe—I give you my absolute word—but his mother is not. She is at risk of a horrible death, for my men have not had a woman in a long time.” Lazar felt the grip of panic around his insides. The despair of choice.

“Heart or duty, Spur? Choose.”

Lazar looked out toward where Herezah had fallen over. Her pursuers were still some distance away and Salazin had turned to help her, sword raised. He would no doubt fight to his death to keep her safe for a few minutes more. But the men would be upon them soon. He returned a sad gaze to Ana.

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“Ah, duty calls,” the man said, laughing delightedly. “Say farewell to Ana, Spur. It’s unlikely the two of you will ever see each other again.”

“Ana,” Lazar said, ignoring his tormentor. “I shall come for you.” Howling laughter followed his promise but Lazar met it with the disdain it deserved. He bowed to the woman he loved. “Wait for me,” he impressed upon her, and before the man could taunt him further, he addressed him. “She is with child. The heir to Percheron. Do not harm her.”

“I will not harm Ana, but I cannot say the same for the child.”

“Heed my warning, stranger: I will come for you and I will have your blood.” The man ignored the warning, “Hurry, Lazar, they are almost upon the Valide,” he warned.

Lazar ran and leaped upon the camel that had been cajoled to its knees. The handler let go of the rope that held the beast and it instantly pushed itself to its feet.

“What is your name?” Lazar demanded.

“I am Arafanz, of the Razaqin. May you and your kind never forget it.” Lazar urged the camel forward, then gave a final glance to Ana, whilst a slap on the animal’s rump from the handler spurred it into an almost instant gallop. Lazar gave a blood-curdling howl, loading it with all of his hate, every ounce of fury he had ever felt. The camel, trained for battle, ran the men down easily, and from his vantage, Lazar no longer gave any quarter. He beheaded his foes, one after another, until four of them together managed to bring the camel down, at which point he leaped nimbly from the dying beast before it crushed him. Without breaking pace, Lazar continued to fight in a haze of bloodlust he had never felt before.

The remaining warriors kept backing their victims farther and farther from their camp. Herezah was hurt; she was limping and Lazar could see that she had been cut, blood blooming at various sites on her body.

The men had deduced that attacking the Spur was useless—he was too good for all of them—so they concentrated their efforts on tormenting the helpless woman, hoping to draw Lazar into their midst and best him that way. Salazin, realizing their intent, dragged Herezah from the fray.

The warriors fought bravely, ferociously. If Lazar had had the opportunity, he would have marveled at their willingness to die. As it was, he had never encountered such lack of care for life and so he dispatched them as efficiently as he could. They were no match for his whirling swords. Salazin returned to the fight and, with one swing of his curved scimitar, took off a man’s head, as Lazar finished off the final two with a series of concerted blows.

He bent over to breathe, unable to speak. It was too soon after his illness for this sort of exertion.

Sucking in air, he used the time to gather his wits, to regain his calm. In the distance he could see that the camp was deserted and understood that Arafanz would have disappeared with Ana the moment he himself charged across the sands to fight.

“How is the Valide?” he asked, straightening.

“She needs the help of physics.” Salazin’s voice sounded gritty from lack of use and from his own exertions.

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Lazar nodded, the direness of the situation sinking in. He needed to get the Valide back to Percheron.

Without their royal emissary, the journey to Galinsea was now lost, and he could hardly go on alone, even if he’d wanted to, and leave the Valide.

No, his duty called. He could hear Arafanz’s laughter still echoing in his mind. How well the man had played him.

“Where is Tariq?” he asked.

“Cowering somewhere,” Salazin replied in a hiss.

“Find him. I will take the Valide.”

The last of the mute guard nodded and jogged off in search of the Grand Vizier. Lazar trudged to where the Valide lay panting in the distance, bleeding in the sand. Dawn had broken fully, and although it was still cool, it would not remain so for long. He hoped she had not heard his murmured conversation with the “mute.”

“Put your arms around my neck, Herezah,” he said, and surprised himself with the gentleness in his voice. She opened her eyes, looked at him with an unsure frown. He lifted her easily and settled her into his arms. “I’m taking you home, Valide. Please stay alive, for all our sakes.” Herezah didn’t smile but even injury had not cowed her biting wit. “And waste the chance to be this close to you for the first time in my life, Lazar? You jest.” She breathed shallowly, her face pale. “No, I will not die. I think I will savor every moment.” He would not look at her but he realized she knew he battled his emotions, understood that it must have taken every ounce of his strength to run toward her and not Ana. “Thank you, Lazar,” she said quietly.

He had nothing more to say, although inwardly he set his promise in stone, carving it mentally on his heart, burning it into his flesh. He would return for Ana.